Santaria
by Kristen999
Summary: A single day of change can be the most challenging case of Nick and Grissom's life's. This is a Nick and Grissom Friendship. Conclusion Up
1. Default Chapter

Title: Santaria

Author: Kristen999

Category: Angst/Drama

Spoilers: None. Set during Season 2

Disclaimer: All rights belong to CBS and all their fine writers. Please don't sue. This is just for fun.

Summary: A single day of change can be the most challenging case of Nick and Grissom's life's.

Notes: This is a character study focussed on Season 2. There has been much research involved in this story as it unfolds. It can be interpreted differently, but try to keep in mind the imagination of the author and the exhausted research involved. I want to say this has been the most challenging piece of CSI fiction I have ever written. The updates will be weekly till I deem that it can be done more frequently. Please be patient. Many thanks to Kris and Shacky for all the help and input. this is very angsty exploration.

I want to say a big thank you again to my wonderful beta Krysalys for help and guidance yet again!

* * *

Gil Grissom stood in the darkened room, his legs aching slightly from being in one position for so long. His eyes had adjusted to the lack of light long ago; the flickering of candles cast shadows over the walls. The air smelled of incense, spice, and sweat. These odors could not; however, cover up the lingering stench of blood that had stained the wooden floor in areas. 

Sweat trickled down his forehead, itching his eyes. He wanted to remove his reading glasses, but felt that he should keep his movements to a minimum and not startle some of the edgy people watching him. It was stifling in here, the heat baking in from the tin roof overhead. He felt like he was in a pressure cooker, but the occupants of the room didn't seem to notice or even care. There were four men in the room, all of them armed. Two of them guarded the door with shotguns perched on their shoulders. Grissom was not in panic mode... not yet.

His attention was focused on the man in front of him. Jorge Carlos was in his late forties, his tanned, wrinkled skin looked like leather. Lines marred a face aged beyond his years. The Latino's long black hair was pulled back into a pony tail. The gray that streaked through was matched by the curled mustache intentionally twisted into points. Jorge had deep blue eyes: those orbs had stared at the criminalist unblinkingly for the past five minutes.

Jorge was studying the CSI exactly like how the entomologist examined one of his specimens at the lab.

Jorge pulled out a pouch from the drawer of the desk he was seated behind. He extracted several marbled pieces, each ornament adorned with symbols. The older man snatched a beat up tin bowl and dumped the strange objects inside, the clanking noise echoing in the room. Jorge then poured some wine from a bottle into it and swirled around the stones. He shook the bowl several times, dumping the contents back onto the desk.

Jorge Carlos was a priest of Santeria, a practitioner of white magic, or that is how he first introduced himself earlier to the CSI during the case. Grissom was actually quite fascinated by the ritual, and watched as the priest pondered his results.

The priest peered at the stones, his eyes focusing on first them and then back towards the scientist. "Who else knows about our operation, señor?"

Grissom looked at the priest thoughtfully. "What do your stones tell you?"

Jorge stroked his chin. "I know what they say to me. I want to hear your words."

"No one else has put the pieces together," he stated simply. The graveyard supervisor really wished this was a thinly veiled lie, but it wasn't.

The priest glanced down at the smooth rocks; his eyes darted up. "You're wrong."

Grissom looked at him wide-eyed. "I assure you that I am not."

The priest smiled. "Tráigalo aquí"

Grissom wasn't sure what the priest had said but his men went into action. The two guards flung open the door and sunlight streamed in, causing the supervisor to shade his eyes from the bright glare. Momentarily blinded, he heard feet rustling on the wooden floor as someone was forced into the room.

The door slammed shut and Grissom's vision adjusted once again. Nick Stokes, flanked by two more goons, was shoved further inside. The supervisor gaped in shock. "Nick, what the hell are you doing here? You're supposed to be at the lab," he growled.

Nick shrugged off his keepers, disentangling them from his arms. They let go of him and backed away, knowing the criminalist wasn't going to do anything with six of them there. Nick glanced at his boss, his expression a bit sheepish "I went over to the Botánica..."

"I told you not to go there!" Grissom reprimanded the younger man, cutting off his reason mid-sentence.

Nick sighed, looking all the world like a kid who had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "Yeah, well I caught our friends here unloading several pounds of heroin from the back entrance into a truck. I was goin' to radio it in when I was caught." He explained as he rubbed the back of his head ruefully.

Jorge studied the newcomer and glanced back to the older CSI. "You have a strong 'mal ojo' with this one," the priest said as he pointed towards the younger man.

Grissom looked back at his captor. "I was telling you the truth earlier."

Jorge smiled. "I know." He paused as he studied both men and shook his head slowly, suddenly standing and pacing the cramped quarters of the space. He snapped his fingers. "Tráigame un pollo."

One of the guards slipped out the door. Both criminalists stood looking around the room as Jorge went over to one of the shelves on the far wall. He pulled out a knife from a sheath and caressed the weapon with his palm before bringing it over to the table. He pulled out a lighter and lit more incense in a few of the burners around his desk.

Nick bristled when the knife was pulled out, but he seemed only slightly relieved when it was deposited on the desk. He glanced over at Grissom, wondering if his boss had a clue what was going on. The supervisor's expression was inquisitive, which meant that he had no idea what was transpiring. However, he could tell his boss was quite intrigued by the situation. Nick sighed inwardly. Only Gil Grissom would find the voodoo ways of Santeria fascinating while they were both being held as prisoners.

The priest ignored the criminalists while he gathered back his stones. He poured more wine into the bowl and set the bottle back down. He glanced over at Nick, noting the man's unfavorable expression. Jorge leaned against his desk. "You don't respect my ways, do you gringo?"

Nick crossed his arms, ignoring his boss's warning glance. "You claim to be a practitioner of religion. However all you do is hide under the guise of a church. This is nothin' but a cult, entwined with drugs that you feed and destroy your people with."

Jorge held his hand in the air, keeping his agitated men from advancing on the two gringos. "Don't dismiss things you don't understand, young man," he chastised.

Nick stared at the priest as he barely contained his hostility. "Tell that to the two girls you murdered," he hissed.

"Nick," Grissom's tone warned the CSI to back down.

One of the priest's underlings returned with a small bamboo cage. Jorge held the cage up high, peering at the animal that was flapping its wings and squawking its unhappiness. The priest pulled out the chicken by its legs. Dirty white feathers floated in the air and fell to the floor. He began to mumble under his breath; it was hard to tell if he was praying or trying to enchant the frantic animal.

He spoke in rapid fire Spanish, his voice getting louder as he grabbed the knife in a dramatic fashion. He slit the throat of the bird as he held it over the simple bowl. Blood spray peppered the priest's shirt before settling to a steady drizzle down into the bowl. Jorge dropped the dead bird onto the table and whirled the contents around.

Grissom didn't say anything as he kept his expression neutral. He radiated a sense of calmness, but Nick didn't hide his contempt at the senseless slaughter. He looked down at the floor in disgust then shot the priest a fiery glare.

Jorge Carlos ignored the eyes that bored though him. He simply chanted while swirling the bowl around. He swiped the bottle of wine and drank a large amount, spitting it back into the mixture of blood and stones. He gazed into the vessel, and bowed slightly at it before sitting it back down. He brought out a pair of candles. He lit the first one, its white wax melting slightly from the heat. He used the burning tip to light the black one, and rested them both on the desk. He began to hum and gazed over at the CSI's.

The priest snapped his fingers. ".Todavía sosténgalos."

The set of goons who had been guarding the door each took a position around Grissom. Both of his shoulders were grabbed in a vice-like grip as he was pushed forward. The two men who had brought Nick in did the same. One of them poked the barrel of a gun in his side to make sure the message was clear.

"Hey, man," Nick complained as he came within mere inches of the priest, who now stood in front of the table.

Grissom looked over at his colleague and tried to convey calming thoughts. The supervisor was unsure what was going on, but neither of them were in any position to fight with these people. It was his duty to set an example for his younger criminalist.

Jorge picked up the knife and watched both CSI's expressions with interest. Nick's face was filled with anger, but he was also unable to control the fear that darkened his features. The younger man glanced at his boss for guidance. Grissom exchanged no words, but his cool exterior seemed to calm him a little.

Grissom remained at attention, and Nick licked nervous lips. The priest held the knife up. "Hold out your hands," he commanded.

Each criminalist slowly did what was instructed. Jorge plucked one of the loose feathers from the floor. He held the sharp knife over Grissom's hand. "Palm up, señor."

The supervisor flipped over his hand and the priest dragged the blade across the middle of the criminalist's palm. Jorge slid the feather across the bleeding wound, allowing the plume to soak up the blood. He then took the feather and dropped it into his mixture.

Grissom pressed his left thumb on the cut, staunching the blood somewhat. The cut burned, but it wasn't too deep. He studied the feather in the metal bowl. He glanced over at Nick, who stared back at him. Grissom arched his eyebrow in curiosity.

The priest looked over at the younger CSI. "You as well, gringo."

Nick obeyed, allowing the older man to cut him. The knife dug into his palm deeply, bringing forth a dark crimson well of blood to dip another feather in. He bit his lip to keep from grunting his pain; he could have sworn the guy had not cut his boss this deep. He clenched his hand in an effort to quell the soreness.

Jorge dumped the feather into the bowl with the other one, before he then gazed at both men. "We'll see what the oracle has to say about your 'susto', then we will decide what to do with you. "Elimínelos."

Grissom and Nick were escorted outside into the harsh heat. They were miles outside the city limit in the sprawling desert. They were marched into a smallish building with a few tiny windows. Each criminalist was shoved inside and the door slammed shut behind them. The sun moved further overhead; the early morning was just starting as the hot rays cast along the metal roof of the small warehouse. A slight breeze carried a lone tumbleweed along, the only relief from the heat.

TBC...

* * *

Note:

I know the Spanish might be off, but I used a translation program. it won't factor in the trest of the storyu.


	2. Chapter 2

The doors closed behind them, with the sound of a pad lock click echoing in the cramped storage building. Both criminalists stood there while they acclimated to the low lighting. Sunlight filtered through the space from a row of filthy, open, little windows that dotted the top of the walls. The room smelled like a strange mix of chemicals and old motor oil.

A few crates were stacked in a corner. An old tire iron were leaning against what appeared to be an old tool box. Besides those few objects, the space was vacant and seemed to hold in and magnify the heat from the day.

Nick wandered over towards the door, listening at the sounds outside. He tried to see anything through the small cracks in the heavy wooden door, but he couldn't discern anything. He wiped his hand over his brow, as the sweat was already soaking his hair. He untucked his chocolate colored T-shirt from his dark blue jeans. Sighing, he wandered back over to his boss who had been scanning the interior.

"I don't think there's anyone watching us outside. They're all probably hanging low inside that other building," Nick suggested.

Grissom tilted his head slightly, and rested his hands on his hips. "What the hell do you think you were doing, Nick?"

The younger man matched his supervisor's posture. Nick didn't expect the first words out of Grissom' mouth to be so harsh considering the circumstances. He held his hand out in the air. "I was playing a hunch."

Grissom's eyes narrowed. "I told you to go back to the lab and process that shirt. What about that sentence did you not understand?"

"I did what you asked. I dropped it off at trace. I went looking for you; since no one knew where you went. I decided to go back to that pharmacy..."

"With an officer escort?" Grissom interrupted.

Nick could feel the red seeping into his cheeks; he had screwed up, and big time. He looked down at the floor and not back at his boss. "No."

Grissom shut his eyes in exasperation. When he opened them, Nick knew he was in for more that just a lecture. He'd seen the supervisor lose his cool and release the clamp on his more explosive emotions before.

Grissom's tone was angry and laced with disappointment. "You're a crime scene analyst, not a detective. Our jobs are to collect evidence and decipher its meaning. We have procedures, Nicky. Running off to a scene, without the presence of an officer, is reckless and stupid. You could have gotten yourself killed."

Nick didn't visibly flinch from the tirade, but he felt his temperature rise from the chastisement, and it wasn't from the stifling heat from the warehouse. "I should have brought someone along, I was wrong. However, I had no clue where you were, and you didn't answer your cell. Maybe I wasn't the only one playing a hunch and not telling anyone where I was goin."

Grissom worked his jaw: the younger man did have a point. "Did you tell anyone at the lab about visiting the Botanica?" he asked hopefully.

Nick didn't know if there was anything left to stare at on the floor. "No. I didn't," he replied in a low voice.

Knowing there would be time to discuss the ramifications of alerting fellow coworkers about plans and rash decisions, Grissom decided to drop the lecture for now. "So, no one knows where either of us was going. I'd also venture a guess, unless they find our notes on my desk. No one has a clue even where to begin looking for us, once it's discovered we're missing," he summarized, somewhat resigned.

Nick finally dragged his gaze up and looked his boss in the eyes. "Yeah. We're on our own."

Grissom arched an eyebrow, staring past the doors. "No, we're not."

Both criminalists had regulated themselves to the floor, as the aggressive temperature inside the small building was a bit more manageable sitting down. Each CSI had been contemplating the odds that the rest of the team might stumble upon where they were being held. Neither CSI could recall this property on any records they had gathered on the priest. Which meant it belonged to one of his followers and it would take hours to track that kind of paper trail.

Grissom absently rubbed his hand through his hair, it was damp with perspiration. His blue eyes drifted over to his colleague who was obviously lost in his own musings. "If you voice your thoughts, maybe I can help."

Nick glanced up. "Huh? Oh, just was thinking about that ritual from earlier. How Jorge's people can swallow all that nonsense."

The older man looked thoughtful. "Maybe because he's a true believer in his faith."

Nick rolled his eyes. "His religion involves animal sacrifice, consulting oracles, worshiping some divine being... the... ah... Olodumare." The younger man enunciated in a perfect accent. He didn't hide his obvious distaste for what he viewed as attributes of a cult.

Grissom slid off his glasses and tapped the end of the lens to the corner of his mouth. "You obviously know about the religion, but you happened to skip everything about its roots in Catholicism and African culture. Santeria was brought here through the Caribbean Islands. It's a form of white magic, and has spread along Miami and the Hispanic culture here."

"I saw a lot these so called priests back in Dallas, when my parents dealt with them through the court systems. Santeria attracts people who are facing some sort of crisis. The poor who have health, job, or family problems are attracted to its magical and spiritual dimensions. Then they get sucked into crime that surrounds the hiacrhy of the so called "churches"." Nick did not conceal his contempt.

"Its an accepted third-world religion," The older man countered.

Nick shook his head. "It's voodoo Gris, no matter how much you try to legitimize it."

"Santeria branched off from the worship and view of saints in the Catholic religion," Grissom reasoned.

Nick gave his supervisor a coy smile. "They lure in the poor and the misguided. Much of the so-called churches are funded by drug trafficking."

"Our friend the priest uses his faith in his daily life, Nick. He has a strong passion for it."

Nick snorted. "Well, he uses it to con his own cronies. They talked about how he consults his 'oracle' before making any drug runs."

Grissom gave the younger man a perplexed look. "They told you that?"

The younger CSI grinned somewhat devilishly. " Nah. They talked about a recent mission in the truck on our little ride here."

Grissom still stared in confusion.

"I can speak Spanish. Growing up in Dallas, it came in handy," Nick explained.

The other man matched his coworker's smile. "That's something I didn't know about you."

Nick shrugged. "There's a lot you don't know about me."

The supervisor was going to retort, sensing an odd underlying tone. However, he never voiced his thoughts when both men turned towards the sound of a lock being undone.

The criminalists stood and flanked each other. They tensed up, anxious about what might happen. Grissom glanced over at his younger colleague and chewed on his lower lip. Nick was understandably frightened, but he was putting on a brave front. The supervisor wished Nick didn't feel like he had to impress him. Grissom shook his head; he hoped the younger man would learn that he didn't need to spend so much time worrying what the supervisor thought of him.

Jorge Carlos walked in with his entourage. Four Latino men carried their guns casually. It was obvious that they didn't view the scientists as a viable threat. The priest went toe to toe with the supervisor.

"I've done a lot of praying and much consulting on the matter of the two of you." The priest extended a finger at each criminalist. He gazed into the older man's eyes, as if waiting for some kind of reaction. "Your blood tells me that you have very few weaknesses and that you are a very pure man."

Jorge tilted his head and looked unfavorably at the younger CSI. "You, gringo. I sought council with a Cuanderismo about the unbalances in your soul."

Nick gave the priest a lopsided grin. "My 'imbalances'? You consulted a witch doctor?"

"No, gringo, not a witch doctor. A holy man." Jorge pulled out a feather stained with the blood of one of them. He stroked the bristled ends of it over his palm. "I'm not an evil man. I will let each of you go in the morning."

Grissom cocked his head, sensing something was off kilter. "We'll be released tomorrow? You'll just... let us go?"

Jorge smiled with two rows of uneven teeth. "I don't wish harm towards the worthy. Both of you must prove that you are indeed innocents. Just missing parts of a flock who accidentally wandered into my culture, unaware of what you're intervening with."

Nick shared an uneasy look with Grissom. The supervisor sent him a message quite clearly with the look in his eyes, so he kept his thoughts to himself, letting his boss take the lead.

"Fine. We'll just wait here. We could use some water, since it's very hot in here." Grissom looked around when some of the men in the warehouse chuckled to themselves.

One seething look from the priest silenced his men. Jorge looked back at Grissom. "I give respect who give it to me in return," his words were spoken in a more icy tone.

The priest snapped his fingers, his men reacting quickly and efficiently. Two of the older looking of the posse unshouldered their shotguns and aimed then at the supervisor. Nick moved to stand in front of the older CSI, but he was quickly yanked away by the two other men.

"Hey!" The Texan protested as both his arms were secured behind his back and he was roughly shoved a few feet away.

Grissom held his hand out and stepped after the men, but froze when both shotguns were cocked, the sound of shells being loaded into the barrels, and aimed point blank at him. He looked at the priest, his eyes filling with anger. "What's going on? Let him go!" he demanded.

The priest rubbed the feather across his lips, slightly licking it with his tongue. Grissom didn't hide his distaste at the gesture.

"I'm a man of my word. However, I must know for sure if his imbalances are within the realm of the light or the dark. Only one way to tell." Jorge stuffed the feather into the pocket of his vest.

Nick struggled with his captors, but they held him firmly in place. Their boss strode over to him and studied the younger man. "It'll only hurt if you fight it too much." The priest pulled out a syringe and a small vial. He injected the needle into the mixture, and studied the amount he pulled out.

Nick's eyes widened in fear, and he bucked against the hands restraining him. One of the men's grip loosened, and Nick jabbed his shoulder into the man's chest and wiggled out of his grasp. The other goon dug his fingers into Nick's arm as he struggled to keep the CSI under his control.

"Enough!" Jorge shouted. "You cause any more trouble and your boss dies!' he threatened.

The other two cronies, whose weapons were aimed at the entomologist, edged closer to Grissom to make their point.

Nick quit his struggles, and was quickly restrained by the man he had successfully knocked aside.

Jorge looked at his men. "Get him on his knees," he ordered.

The man Nick had thrown off took the butt of his gun and slammed the handle into the criminalist's gut. The CSI grunted and crashed down to his knees.

The priest locked eyes with one of his followers. The goon released Nick's right arm and Jorge grabbed it, studying the blood vessels there. The priest squeezed hard on Nick's forearm. "You have nice veins," he commented.

Nick wanted nothing more than to take his chances and tackle the leader before he went through with his plans. The priest's iron-clad grip had a lot of strength behind it. The CSI could feel the blood circulation being slowed down, and a slight tingle snaked down his arm. Nick's breathing increased in tandem with his fear as the other man poised the needle right above a vein that was bulging just below the crook in his right arm.

"Please, don't do this," he pleaded in a strained voice. Nick wanted to bolt; he glanced over at Grissom, his superior and mentor. He saw the guns pointed at the older man, and the Texan knew the consequences if he didn't let this madman inject him with God only knew what.

His adrenaline pumped wildly through him; he wanted to fight, and it wasn't like him to play the victim. But he had responsibilities to his coworker and friend. Nick locked eyes with the priest, and voicelessly begged with him to halt his actions, hoping he connected with any sense of humanity within the cold-blooded man. Nick's breath hitched in his chest as he tried to suppress a shiver.

Grissom, who rarely experienced panic, felt his heart race. "Stop it! Don't do this!" he shouted.

The two thugs held Nick in position with his left arm pinned behind his back. One of the thugs had snaked an arm around the CSI's chest to keep him still as he leaned his weight on him.

Jorge Carlos looked somewhat sympathetic. "This is a journey you must take, young man." He plunged the needle into Nick's vein and pushed down on the plunger. He slid the syringe out just as quickly as he had issued the injection.

Nick bit his lip as he felt a sting, then a burning sensation began to flood his arm. He cradled his bicep after it was released, rubbing at the injection mark and looked up at the face of his captor with disdain and shock.

The priest snapped his fingers. His men released the CSI as Nick grappled with the reality of what had just transpired.

The two other goons lowered their weapons and backed away, flanking their boss as they exited the building.

Grissom bolted towards Nick and knelt down with him. He removed the criminalist's hand to inspect the injection site, noting the red swelling around the tiny little hole. Furious, he stood abruptly and stalked towards the priest, despite the warning glare the followers gave him. Grissom got right into the other man's face.

"What did you give him? What dosage?" he asked in rapid-fire succession.

The priest didn't answer him and the supervisor's faced flushed red with barely restrained fury. "Answer me, you bastard!" he seethed.

"I gave him the truth," Jorge cryptically announced and turned his back on the scientist. His four followers followed behind, keeping wary eyes on both criminalists.

The five men exited and closed the door, allowing the small enclosure to be cast in gloom once again. After the door was slammed shut, it was locked and secured. Grissom pinched the bridge of his nose at a loss of what to do. Knowing he had to formulate a plan, he quickly made his way back to his CSI while he contemplated the next course of action.

TBC...

* * *

Notes: This is the last calm chapter. The rest of this story will be...well ...rough. Again this is a character study set during Season 2. I hope everyone enjoys it. 

rozzy-

My faithful friend. I think you'll find this story to your tastes, it delves deep and dark. Thank you again for all of your wonderful support for everything!

MS2-

Hope I keep your attention throughout. Off to read you work here a bit later.

Crutchjoy-

Why thank you for such beautifully words. I try to take the reader on a ride, one that is exciting as well as emotional. No matter what I do, there will always be a solid ending. Thank you again and hope you like this new one.

PL Wynter-

Good to see you again. Always good to hear from you. Yes, I've been glued to the finale promos. I think I'll need a drink for Thursday night.

Brigitta-

I always continue! I'll never leave a reader hanging too long. Glad to see a new face and thanks for the support.

Miss Anonymous HP-

I finally get to say thank you for all of your feedback of my stories. I have read all your comments as you went through my little collection. Thanks for taking the time to read and to respond.

Designation-

Jorge is a complicated person and not one to take lightly. However the focus of most of the chapters will be between Grissom and Nick. The rest of the story becomes one full blown roller coaster ride and presented the self challenge I wanted to take. Hope you enjoy it and always nice hearing from you. As for the title, man what a goof on my part. Sigh, I'll have to fix it sometime. Thanks for catching it!

Wolfwood-

Hehe. I 'm sure you have a ton of questions now! Not sure if I will be able to answer them, but its fun to make people anxious!

Shacky-

My buddy. You'll just have to wait and see. But I most defend myself, I'm nice to Nick...sometimes! I hope I'm not a predictable author.

Lament-

Thank you. With all the discussion about Grissom and Nick's views of each other, I find it ironic the timing of this story. I began working on it a while ago so I guess this will fit well.

Brady Layne-

Thanks again! Hope you enjoy the new adventure!

amarawind-

Missy! Hehe, well I decided to update sooner. A lot of things fell into place at once, so I'll be to update a bit more frequently then originally planned.

c1-

Glad to see you again. Hope you enjoy!

A.Reamains-

Thank you. This has been one of my favorites to write! Damn pain in the ass, but fun!

Amy-

Thanks. I like friendship stories, to me they have more meaning. However, I like reading most anything as long as the characters ring true.


	3. Chapter 3

Note: I decided to post this,sice the next part won't be up till the weekend. Got to give myself time to take in the season finale. So enjoy.

* * *

Grissom joined his CSI, who was still trying to deal with what had just transpired. The supervisor stood next to him while he sorted out what he was going to say. He was still the senior investigator, and this situation, despite all the obvious bumbles, was his responsibility. There may not be any scene to give instructions concerning collection, but he still could maintain structure. This was a crisis, and it was his job towards his subordinate to try to gain some order. Nick responded well to the chain of command in stressful situations before, and in this case it would provide a certain comfort level.

"We should keep our movements to a minimum. Though we should move over towards those windows. Maybe if we're lucky, we can catch some semblance of a small breeze."

Nick nodded absently and treaded slowly over towards the far wall, sliding his back against the interior to sit Indian style on the floor. The CSI studied his hand: the cut was still bleeding somewhat. Nick had nothing to wrap up the wound with. He clasped his palm over his jeans in the meantime, hoping it would clot soon.

Grissom sat down next to him. The supervisor always wore several layers of clothing, because he liked having the option of being able to keep cool in air conditioned places. Or in this case, if he was hot, he could simply remove his outer shirt. He took off the garment and started tearing up part of the sleeve. He took the strip and bandaged the wound in his hand. The cut wasn't bleeding very much, but he figured he might as well try to keep it clean, just in case movement started the flow again. The criminalist then ripped up some more fabric and handed it wordlessly to his colleague.

Nick mumbled a thanks and applied it to his own palm, the blood had already stained his jeans in his failed attempt to tend to it.

Nick tried to focus on the situation as a scientist. His mind flooded with information on various kinds of drugs: narcotics, hallucinogens, crack, cocaine. As he sorted through each category he conjured up their varying symptoms. He tried to analyze the situation. He had an unidentified substance coursing through his system. He had been injected, so whatever it was would begin to affect him soon. There was nowhere to go, and no medical assistance on the way. The CSI had to face the fact that he would have to deal with this head on.

Grissom broke the silence with some very pertinent questions. "Do you have any idea how much you were injected with? Did you notice the color?" Grissom asked, knowing that any tidbit of information would be vital in identifying the drug.

Nick tried to visualize the amount of liquid that was in the syringe. He slid his tongue over his lips, wetting them slightly. The CSI blinked. "I dunno. I had a weird view. From the fluid level in the syringe, I'd guess more than 5 mililiters. I couldn't tell the color. " The younger man peered at his boss. "Must be potent, whatever it was." Nick couldn't hide the tremble in his voice.

Grissom swallowed. He had to remain calm and stay focused. "Blood pressure, pulse, body temperature, and mental awareness," Grissom ticked off several fingers. "Those are the types of things that measure drug interactions within the body without the aid of tox screens." He took a deep breath. "How are you feeling?"

Nick tried to concentrate on his body's reactions. He glanced at his watch. It had been ten minutes and he was already feeling extremely anxious; like when he had butterflies before some major exam. He couldn't tell if it was from fear about his situation or a reaction to whatever he'd been exposed to.

Nick shook his head. "It's hard to tell." He laughed nervously. His voice echoed strangely inside the enclosed space. He nervously watched the shadows around him as they seemingly moved ominously around them. Nick tried to ignore what he thought was his overactive imagination. Dark, small areas always creeped him out sometimes.

Grissom studied the man in front of him. Nick looked so very young right now. All of his easygoing mannerisms and that innocent charm were in stark contrast to the conflicting emotions reflected there now. The supervisor took a hold of Nick's wrist, placed his fingers along the pulse there, and studied the second hand on his watch. Some drugs reacted very quickly. He felt the beating vein beneath his finger as Nick's pulsed actually slowed.

Grissom chewed his bottom lip as he mentally cataloged every nuance and physical reaction of the man before him. Nervousness, fear, and excitement usually caused your pulse to race. Over the next two minutes, the supervisor felt Nick's continue to slow down instead.

"Let me see your arm," The older criminalist instructed.

Nick gave him an odd expression, but obeyed. Grissom palpated the radial pulse in various areas of his arm. His fingers sought out various sections of one of Nick's veins that snaked down his arm. The CSI inspected Nick's fingers carefully, paying close attention to his nails. He pressed his thumb firmly against Nick's nail beds and let go, observing the reaction  
carefully.

"Ah, Griss? What are you doing?" Nick inquired, somewhat confused.

"Testing capillary refill time of your circulation." Gil peered through his glasses at the younger man's perplexed expression, and shrugged somewhat absently. "It's a way to check blood pressure when you don't have a cuff," he explained almost casually.

"Oh," the younger man said simply. Nick was always in awe of the little facts his boss stored away. Grissom could win handsomely in jeopardy if ever given a chance, he mused. "So, what's the verdict?"

Grissom held the other man's gaze. "Nothing yet. I needed a point of reference. I'll check again in a little while. Just..." Grissom stopped mid-sentence, as he caught himself in experiment mode again. This wasn't the lab, this was Nick. He looked at the much younger man who was holding on to every word he spoke. Grissom smiled wanly and patted Nick's knee. "Please tell me if you start feeling anything abnormal. Don't worry about how it sounds."

Nick nodded his head in an affirmative, really at a loss for words. He swallowed hard. This day would just be another test he'd have to endure. The criminalist often referred to these type of situations as the obstacles that life threw your way to make you the person that you became. His hand twitched slightly and Nick tried to quiet the doubt in his head concerning his abilities to overcome this current battle.

Time passed. Nick didn't bother to look at his watch anymore. After checking the time every five minutes, Grissom had grabbed his hand and shook his head.

"Stop it. We can't make time go by faster and you're only going to exasperate your nerves."

Nick had leaned his head against the grimy wall. The floor was greasy and the cement only seemed to contain the heat. He couldn't seem to keep his hands clean, since there was a layer of dirt and dust that coated about every inch of the place. The fine particles coated his palms, and got all over his arms. He tried wiping the filth from his flesh, but the crap seemed stuck in the hairs of his forearms.

The tiny open windows high up near the top of the building didn't seem to provide any relief and even less light. It was the middle of the morning, but it didn't really matter. The place reminded him of a cramped attic and it was started to make him jittery. On a scale of one to ten, his comfort level was at the flat bottom of the scale. He swallowed again, but his mouth was dry, and his throat felt parched.

Nick unconsciously clenched and unclenched his left fist. His right hand continued to throb from the knife cut. He closed his eyes, willing his body to obey his commands. There was nothing he could do about his situation, so he tried to go with the flow. Nick's thoughts drifted back to his days at A&M. He had drank in college just like everyone else. When he was part of a fraternity, he had been the designated driver most of the time, but he had his share of binges, and hangovers from the result. He had never experimented with drugs, not even weed.

Nick's family worked in all aspects of law enforcement, with his father residing as a superior court judge in Dallas. He had continued with the family tradition, just not in all the safe aspects that his parents had wanted to see or envisioned. He didn't have any instincts to fall back on or any point of reference for this predicament. The confidence that he prided himself in was slipping.

No matter how much he told his brain to relax, to picture a serene beach, or rolling hills, he could not control his fear. 'Don't act this way,' he berated himself. 'Just be cool.'

He could hear Warrick's voice in his head, always the calm and collected one. That man could roll with any punch. Nick opened his eyes, his boss had felt out his pulse again. 'Calm down, Stokes,' he chastised. Nick started to breath slightly faster as he began to feel an intense sense of foreboding. His cheeks burned with embarrassment.

"Carlos traffics in Heroin, he might have given me some," his voice cracked under the intense strain of trying to remain unaffected. Nick looked away from his boss; he couldn't stand the feeling of pity or judgment that seemed to radiate from the man. All he wanted to do was stay detached, disconnected, but that was proving to be very difficult.

Grissom looked at his coworker, not totally convinced. "Maybe. I don't think Carlos would just give you smack... it doesn't seem his style." Grissom shook his head. "It doesn't make sense."

Nick whipped his head around, an incredulous expression on his face. "Wouldn't make sense? What about any of this makes sense, Griss? You almost sound like you admire the bastard."

Grissom blinked. He placed his hands on each one of Nick's shoulders. He looked into terrified brown eyes that were wide with panic. "Nick, calm down. Let's try to reason this out." Grissom gave each shoulder a slight squeeze, trying to relay some sort of reassurance. "Okay?"

"Yeah," Nick replied dryly. He licked his lips again. "You have a theory now?" Nick wiped way the sweat from his forehead and pulled his drenched T-shirt away from his chest. He tried fanning himself with it, but the damn thing was so damn sticky.

Grissom sought out the CSI's pulse one more time. It was still slow and was getting difficult to detect. The criminalist pressed down on the other man's nail beds like had had done earlier. Nick had started breathing more rapidly as well. Sweat didn't just dot the younger man's brow, his forehead and hair were soaked with perspiration.

Grissom pushed his reading glasses further along the bridge of his nose as he tried to articulate his thoughts. "You have a slow pulse. When I release my thumb over you nails, your refill time is greater than two seconds."

Nick looked at him expectantly, his forehead scrunched in nervousness.

"Your blood pressure is dropping. I've noticed fluctuations in your breathing." Grissom rubbed the end of the sleeve of his shirt at his own forehead, dabbing at it. "It feels like a hot box in here. I'm sweating, but you're soaked in perspiration. Your body temperature's rising from whatever chemical you were given." His tone remained neutral. Controlled.

Grissom didn't voice his alarm about the possibility of heat stroke. Nick was more at risk from suffering from severe dehydration with his system compromised by whatever substance he had been given. He would cross that bridge when he came to it.

Grissom tilted his head. "Don't be alarmed if you feel like your heart is racing one moment, and then slowing down another. Some drugs make you feel one way, while in reality your body is enduring something totally different."

Nick squinted in the low lit room. Grissom's lips were moving but they suddenly didn't seem to be matching up with his words. It was as if he was watching a film of the man speaking to him in slow motion. Nick blinked several times, but his boss's voice continued in slow motion.

"M-maybe an opiate of some kind," he ventured a guess, trying to ignore the strange auditory anomaly.

Grissom tilted his head. "Maybe. Perhaps a form of opium or peyote even. If you were injected with Heroin, you'd be feeling a rush about now. Your pupils would be smaller. I speculate that he used something else."

Nick stared at his mentor; he seemed to float in front of him like some projection. Nick clenched his fist again, concentrating on balling up his fingers and feeling the pressure. "Like what?"

Grissom shook his head. "I don't know yet."

Nick snatched his wrist away from the other man's gentle grasp. "I'm not one of your damned experiments Grissom. I just can't sit here and watch you observe me like one of your hissing cockroaches."

Nick stood up suddenly and felt all the blood drain from his head. He was hit with an onslaught of dizziness. His vision swam in and out of view. He heard Grissom's voice in the distant background, but it was drowned out by some sort of white noise. It sounded like the supervisor was talking inside a tin cup; surrounded by the buzzing of thousands of insects. Then just as suddenly he found himself back on the ground again.

Grissom loomed over him, his face stricken with alarm.

"Nick, Nick?"

The younger man shook his head, it was silent and clear again. His worried boss stared at him. "What?" He squinted his eyes, confused by his boss' demeanor.

Grissom took a shuddering breath. Nick had bolted up, staggered away like some drunk, and was about to collapse to the ground before he grabbed him and guided him back to the floor. "Stay put," he commanded.

Nick wiped at his brow again with a slightly shaky hand. God he was so hot, it felt like a damn oven in here. "Jesus Grissom... I-I'm sorry," he stammered.

"It's okay, Nick. We're just going to sit here." Grissom didn't know what else to say. He had to keep his CSI focused on something. The entomologist sighed inwardly. He wasn't suited for this, words were never his strong thing. He thought about one of his classical pieces. The music soared in his mind and gave him a more peaceful feeling.

Nick's face was flushed, and the supervisor longed for a bottle of water. He needed to keep the younger man here, sitting, his mind off of whatever he was experiencing. Grissom's brow furrowed; what on earth could he say? He was never good with idle chit chat or small talk.

The case.

"Why did you go to the pharmacy, Nick? What intrigued you so much that you acted so brashly?"

It was an innocent enough question. Perhaps not one of the best phrased ones, as the shift leader saw his colleague's eyes narrow, the muscles along his jaw tighten.

"What?" Nick didn't keep the resentment from his voice.

Grissom tilted his head, there was something off about Nick's tone. "The pharmacy, you took off..."

Nick shook his head in irritation. "I didn't just take off. I was following a hunch... I had an idea. Is that such a surprise?"

Grissom squinted, clearly confused by the hostility he sensed. Perhaps the current case wasn't the brightest idea as a topic of conversation. Maybe he should have chosen something along the likes of locker room talk. Maybe sports. That was definitely a subject that Nick would feel more comfortable with. He tried to backpedal; however, Grissom felt totally inept. He knew it was baseball season, but had not followed any of the teams lately. Clearly talking stats would be a bit out of the question. Grissom felt frustrated and Nick still stared at him like he had just been scolded.

Nick wiped a grimy hand over his sweaty face. "I did what you told me to do, Grissom, what you've always taught me to do."

Nick squeezed his eyes shut. The room seemed like it was getting smaller. The walls seemed to close in around him. Nick tried to concentrate on what Grissom was saying. The supervisor started talking again, reprimanding him for something. Why did his boss constantly doubt his ability to do his job correctly?

"Don't you trust me?" Nick asked.

Gil Grissom exhaled a heavy breath. The supervisor had been trying to get his subordinate's attention for the past several minutes. Nick had been in his own little world, staring right past. Grissom shook head, not understanding what was going through Nick's mind. "Trust you?" He gaped at him, trying to follow the his friend's fractured thought pattern.

Nick looked up at him. "You never have, ya know. I've never been worthy of your trust."

Grissom sighed. "Nick, listen to yourself. You're not thinking clearly now. Why don't you..."

"Stop patronizing me Grissom! I'm not some green cadet," he yelled.

Grissom didn't want to rise to the barb, but maybe reason was still the best course of action here. "Worthiness is not synonymous with trust, Nick. It's not a prerequisite."

The younger man worked his lower jaw back and forth. "More riddles. Can't you ever give me a straight answer? I -I've always had to seek even the simplest response from you."

Grissom gave his coworker a passive expression. "I don't mince words, Nick. I'm frank with you and try to stick to the point. Sometimes it's stuff you don't want to hear. " Grissom had been crouched down on his knees, and he adjusted his position when they began to ache. "You're experiencing something very difficult and frightening right now. Let's just focus on talking about something other than the case."

The supervisor tried to use a calm cadence in his voice. His colleague stared right past him. Nick swatted at his eyes in annoyance as he squinted in the darkness. If Grissom knew any better, then he almost thought that his coworker couldn't understand him. The younger man's expression was twisted into a mask of pure confusion.

Nick's stomach stared to churn and he felt overwhelmingly sick. He pushed aside the nausea. "Is this another test, Gris? Are Warrick, Sara, and Catherine standing outside laughing at the fact you duped me again?"

"No, Nick," Grissom tried to reassure him.

But Nick would have none of it. "Silk, Silk, Silk. Man, this is a bit elaborate even for you, don't ya think?"

Nick squeezed his eyes shut. The room was spinning wildly now, and he felt like several tiny knives were stabbing him in the gut. Grissom's voice filled his ears, whispering words that he could barely make out. He was tired of the parental tone. It was so annoying. Not to mention he couldn't understand what was being said. The words and syllables just hung disjointedly in the air.

The contents of his stomach were now demanding his full attention, and the bile rose up the back of his throat. Nick tried to breathe deeply, but the air inside the warehouse felt so damn thin.

"N...i...c..k.." His name was echoing in his head now. There was more than one taunting voice. Grissom's, Warrick's and Catherine's were mixing together like some strange cacophony. The CSI tried to focus on each one of them, but it was gave him a terrible headache. Nick clutched at his belly. His equilibrium was not working, and he couldn't even tell if he was sitting up or laying down. The criminalist forced both of his hands to the floor in an attempt to anchor himself. Nick's sense of balance was off and his lightheadedness was competing with his rebellious stomach.

The criminalist curled up on his side, groaning in pain. A strangled cry escaped his throat, immediately followed by the remains of his last meal.

Grissom was instantly next to him, trying to steady him as he became violently ill. The supervisor held onto the younger man's shoulders as the CSI continued to dry heave. Grissom felt the heat radiate through the younger man's T-shirt. The scientist added this to his mental notes and helped Nick to sit back up. The CSI leaned heavily next to the older man.

Nick was shaking uncontrollably, but managed to wipe his mouth with his sleeve. The younger man was pale and his face continued to blanch as he looked panic stricken over at his mentor.

"W-whats' goin on?" Nick choked on his words. His eyes blazing, he suddenly twisted out of Grissom's grasp. "W-hat the hell is happening to me?" Nick crawled along the ground. He did whatever it took to keep his distance from the other man.

Grissom decided against standing up, thinking that he might be seen as a threat. He stayed on his haunches and followed his CSI while giving him some space. "Nick... Nick, please tell me what's wrong?"

The older man had a feeling what was transpiring; irrational paranoia was an easy thing to spot. Now he was left with the challenge of trying to get his coworker to focus on anything other the beginning of some sort of nightmare in his head.

Nick had stayed on his hands and knees and backed into a corner of the warehouse. Frantically he searched behind him, even though there was nothing there. He was still balling up his fists, the pain in his stomach reaching a crescendo. Nick glared at his boss with suspicion, his eyes darted around as he searched for a means of escape.

Nick didn't know why he needed to get away. A small part of his mind idly wondered if this was some elaborate ruse, and he found he didn't much like being an object of an experiment. The walls continued to close in on him and he felt his chest tighten up at the thought of being trapped in this place.

"G-Grissom, let's just leave. You proved y-your point," Nick stammered as his heart thundered. It felt like it was going to explode. He pressed his knuckles against the muscles along his chest, hoping to keep it from bursting out.

Gil held his hands out passively. "Nick, we can't leave. We're being held here, remember?"

The image of Grissom flickered like a film strip caught by a projector. His voice drifted in and out, and Nick could see the vague smile that his supervisor tried to conceal. Nick dug his tightly clenched fist against his chest. If he pressed hard enough, maybe he could control his rapidly beating heart.

Grissom worriedly nodded in Nick's direction. "Does your chest hurt? Because if it doesn't you're going to leave a nice sized bruise there, if you keep pressing down so hard." The scientist wanted to check the CSI's pulse, but knew better than to get too close.

Nick shook his head. "I don't want to play your game anymore, Gris."

The older man just shook his head. "This isn't about any tests, Nick," he spoke calmly.

Nick shuddered. "I've never been good enough in your eyes. No matter how many leads I provided or how many cases I've helped solve."

"This isn't about approval, Nick. You're confused, the drug is praying on your insecurities."

Nick Stokes was fully aware of his faults and had developed a keen sense for all of his shortcomings. They clung to him now, like a pestilence. They were a part of his soul that was dark.

'Will see the imbalances in your soul, gringo,' echoed in his head.

Nick stiffened as he was filled with another wave of urgency. He looked over at his supervisor, trying to shake way the image of his dad's expression now transposed there. "I love my job... I want to make a difference."

Grissom arched an eyebrow. "You do Nick. Just because your work centers on the mistakes that other people make, doesn't mean we should focus that on ourselves all the time."

Nick allowed the ends of his mouth twist into a wry smile. "I'm not the one who points out my inadequacies. You do that on all your own."

"How else are you going to learn?" Grissom questioned him. Unlike what most people thought about him, he did not prey upon other people's miscues; it was his job to make people aware of them, so they could practice better judgment later. It was a virtuous teaching cycle in their line of work.

"Everyone has faults. Why do mine cause you such concern?" Nick's mouth quivered, but it was more from the drug circulating inside him. His muscles over the past few minutes seemed to have a mind of their own.

"I don't single you out. Your tendencies towards empathy can be more problematic than Sara's compulsions or Warrick's old gambling problems." Grissom choose his words wisely.

"You hold the fact that I can emotionally connect with people against me?" Nick asked, without keeping the astonishment out of his voice.

"It's more of a challenge and a skill to remain unattached than it is to feel something towards a victim or their family, Nick. Your position is not to relate to anyone, it's to look for evidence and analyze it. There is no room in science for emotions."

"Y-you make it sound like some sort of weakness." Nick muttered in a brief moment of lucidity.

Grissom started to get slightly defensive. "You take things too personally. All I'm saying is that it could effect how you handle a case."

Now the younger man's frowned deepened. "Warrick doesn't seem to do anything wrong. He can be left in charge of shifts despite my seniority, and as long as he doesn't get any one else killed on duty, then it's all hunky-dory. He's your favorite after all." The CSI's accent was heavy and his voice dripped with venom.

Grissom inched up closer towards the agitated man. "I don't play favorites, Nick. If you're referring to Holly Gribbs, that was just a terrible accident. Warrick regretted leaving her alone, and he was disciplined properly for it. If I wanted to put someone with the most experience in charge of shift, I would have chosen you. But it wasn't about that. It was just a test for Warrick. I needed to know how he would handle things."

Nick's heart still seemed to be bouncing around wildly against his sternum. The CSI tried to get to his feet and stand. He felt like he would be in a better position to argue, but as he rose, the muscles in his back stiffened. The muscles spasmed as he stood awkwardly.

"I bet 'Rick regretted leaving a rookie behind on her first case. D'you harbor any doubts when you didn't leave an officer at the scene during the Faye Green case? Or was that just another test?" Nick used his hands to push off from the wall. He wavered sideways, but remained on his feet. Barely.

Grissom felt stricken at the accusation. " We both were surprised when Amy Hendler pulled that gun. I'm the one who came in before she could do anything."

Nick swallowed. His chest tightened even more, making it difficult to draw a full breath. A tidal wave of fear seemed to have a hold of him. Nick was frozen still, every nerve in his body was engulfed in icy fear. Time seemed to morph. He wasn't in the warehouse any more. He saw the gun pointed at his head. Saw the look of sorrowful determination as Mrs. Hendler muttered an apology right before pulling the trigger. Nick had been forced into a corner then just like he was now.

He began violently shaking; he saw the barrel of the gun waver, but its target was quite clear. His mother would be forced to have a closed casket funeral, and his coworkers would spend hours collecting every tiny remnant of bone and shattered skull. The blood pool wouldn't have carpet to soak into. It would simply just spread over all the lacquered panels of the wooden floor with that damn aquarium. The splatter patterns would be so widespread that it would take countless rolls of film to document.

The smell of copper filled his nostrils and his throat constricted.

He let out a strangled, scream. "No!"

Nick bolted and knocked Grissom out of the way as he scrambled towards the doors of the entrance.

* * *

Notes:  
I must say that I'm overwhelmed. All of you guys are such wonderful supporters, its so nice! I don't think I could ever ask for a better group of readers! All of you rock, and I'm very excited about this new story and hope all of you enjoy all the little details. Thank all of you again!

Designation-  
Thank you again for such detailed comments. As you can see, this indeed gets very intense and will continue to do so. I really worked on getting into Grissom's head during the early part of the show and glad that his character really does ring true. It was needed as a set up for what is transpiring now.

Lament-  
I love the complex friendship between Gil and Nick. That's why I really wanted to explore it. Thank you again.

Miss Anonymous-  
Thanks. Got to keep the readers on their toes. I can't tell you exactly what's happened to Nick, but there are enough clues dropped. I'll tie everything up in the end, I promise.

amarawind-  
I'm trying. This story took a long time to plan and write. It'll be fun to see how everyone reacts to it.

Blagrauna-  
Let's just say this story goes into the darker side of things. :-)

M2S-  
Nick is going to go through a lot, the ride will be very bumpy. Thank you and I promise I'll get to your story very soon.

CSIfan-  
I hope this gets you trough the weekend, I know I know I'm evil. But the next few chapters are long so I felt it made up for things. Nick will experience something he has never dealt with, in more ways then one. With Grissom there, it'll be something that will stay with both of them forever. Thank you again!

rozzy-  
Did I ever tell you that you rock! Such wonderful things to an author's ears! I don't know what to say. Hope you like where's its going and yes the word angst should be used many, many times with this one. I swear, its really a character study!

Groban-  
So good to see you again! Hope you have some heart medication ready!

wolfwood-  
Thanks! Gil is going to have his hands filled with this one. Just wait and see!

cruchjoy-  
Thanks m'dear! That made me chuckle!

higherbeingfriendsfan-  
Hand on yo your seat! Thanks for your kind words. Hoped you liked this one.

c1-  
I posted this chapter since I felt we would all be in overload from Thursday. So, I felt we would need time to decompress. These two were very, very exciting to write.


	4. Chapter 4

Nick swallowed. His chest tightened even more, making it difficult to draw a full breath. A tidal wave of fear seemed to have a hold of him. Nick was frozen still, every nerve in his body was engulfed in icy fear. Time seemed to morph. He wasn't in the warehouse any more. He saw the gun pointed at his head. Saw the look of sorrowful determination as Mrs. Hendler muttered an apology right before pulling the trigger. Nick had been forced into a corner then just like he was now.

He began violently shaking; he saw the barrel of the gun waver, but its target was quite clear. His mother would be forced to have a closed casket funeral, and his coworkers would spend hours collecting every tiny remnant of bone and shattered skull. The blood pool wouldn't have carpet to soak into. It would simply just spread over all the lacquered panels of the wooden floor with that damn aquarium. The splatter patterns would be so widespread that it would take countless rolls of film to document.

The smell of copper filled his nostrils and his throat constricted.

He let out a strangled, scream. "No!"

Nick bolted and knocked Grissom out of the way as he scrambled towards the doors of the entrance.

* * *

Grissom wasn't quite prepared to be bowled over by the CSI. Nick easily pushed him out of the way, and almost knocked him down in the process. Nick's uneven gait towards the entrance only disturbed him further. The older CSI quickly caught up to the frantic man, who screamed and pounded away at the heavy wooden door. Nick slammed his hand into the unwavering object again and again. Frustrated at the obstacle that separated him from the outside, he balled up both hands into fists and punched the structure in fury.

Grissom knew that, fueled by hysteria, the power behind Nick's jabs would only cause him injury if he insisted. "Nick, stop it!" Grissom beseeched him with all the authority he could muster.

Nick didn't feel his flesh impact with the barrier, or the bones snap when he had applied way too much force. His fist had gone white with the circulation being cut off. The door didn't budge and he started to slam his shoulder against it, desperate to make it buckle.

Grissom wasn't going to stand aside and watch the younger man dislocate his shoulder. The older CSI grabbed Nick from behind and yanked backwards with all of his might. With the uncontrolled momentum, Grissom fell onto his back with a grunt. Nick landed on the top of the right side of his body, and both men had the wind knocked out of them. Grissom struggled to get out from underneath Nick's almost dead weight.

Once freed, Grissom rubbed his shoulder and tried to soothe the pain from where Nick's elbow had jabbed him. The older man felt the twinge of a pulled muscle in his lower back and sat up gingerly. Nick was sprawled on the floor next to him, but didn't seem to be phased by his tumble to the ground; instead sitting splay-legged with a stunned expression.

"Nicky?" Grissom asked in a soft voice.

The CSI didn't respond; he seemed too caught up in some inner turmoil. Gone was the overwhelming panic... replaced by a subtle sense of gloom, as Nick's eyes could only be described as despondent. Grissom attempted once again to slide closer to the younger man.

Nick felt numb. He didn't know why he'd attacked the door like that. It was like he wasn't in control of his own body, that someone else had taken charge. He'd been a bystander, outside his body, as someone else who looked eerily like him pummeled at the exit. Nick wearily rubbed at his face, but looked at his fingers in confusion. They didn't seem quite right. Maybe he was at fault for this situation, perhaps all of Grissom's doubts had been calculated and realistic expectations.

Nick felt the floodgate to the looming insanity crash open. He pulled his knees up to his chest and rocked back and forth quietly, drowning in the sea of loneliness and isolation. All the way in Vegas and he still couldn't reach their high standards.

Grissom needed a scorecard to keep up with the never-ending cycle of mood swings that his criminalist was going through. He tried to stay in his line of vision, but it was like the supervisor wasn't even present. Nick looked completely lost, with his chin on his knees and his arms wrapped around them in protection.

"Nick?" Grissom's voice was a bit louder as he tried to break through to the other man.

Nick lifted his head; it felt so heavy. He stared at his mentor--the newest judge in his life. "I can never measure up. Never have... never will," his voice trailed off.

Grissom cursed to himself; he wasn't a psychologist. This was not his forte. Gil settled on locking eyes with the criminalist. "Some people use the wrong tools to gauge success and accomplishments, Nick. Seeking out approval will never fulfill self realizations. If you can't be satisfied with yourself, then there's no way you can fill the void from others."

Nick didn't hear Grissom's words. He saw the unapproving stare of his father reflected in his mentor's eyes. His dad's disappointment was a heavy burden to carry. No matter how hard he worked, how difficult the task, he was just the son who ran away from the pressures he couldn't bear.

Nick collapsed in on himself. He let out another strangled sound deep within his throat, and dropped his head in defeat as he was surrounded by all of his failures.

Gil Grissom watched in muted horror as one of the most stable people he knew fell apart emotionally. The older CSI sat silently as muffled noises of deep distress drifted through the warehouse. Grissom struggled with how to handle this. Options were something he had very little of. Gil knew in his gut that this roller coaster ride was far from over. His mind also screamed at him to do something. He shouldn't just act like the robot he was perceived to be at work.

Slowly, as if approaching a dangerous animal, Grissom tentatively put an arm around the younger man. There were no violent reactions, however, his presence was not the calming effect he had sought. Still quite out of his element, he murmured soothing inconsequential things under his breath. He hoped his tone would evoke some sort of calm.

Grissom patted Nick's shoulder and he used the opportunity to examine his right hand. Grissom hissed under his breath in sympathy. The young CSI's hand was red and swollen in several places. Blood had soaked through the makeshift bandage there from where Jorge had sliced it up, but Gil didn't want to prod too much at this time. Nick had obviously broken at least several bones and he wasn't even aware of it. No doubt the younger man would be in real pain soon enough.

Gil Grissom knew these signs, and he finally was able to put it all together and make sense of it. Low blood pressure, irregular heartbeat, irregular breathing, severe nausea, loss of sense of pain, states of panic and fear. Nick Stokes had been injected with some form of PCP, and this nightmare could only get worse.

* * *

Nick had been eerily silent for the past few minutes. What worried Grissom the most was the way he watched the shadows. The younger CSI was suffering from involuntary eye movement. Nick's stare twitched uncontrollably.

The darkness was mitigated by the few rays of sunlight that managed to drift in through the dirty windows. Nick would catch every little shift in pattern, as the dancing light created ominous distortions. The criminalist's eyes started drifting upwards towards the ceiling. The shadows were more frightening up there. Little splotches of color would jump in and out of the void of emptiness around the rafters. The dark hid things that didn't want to be seen, but he could still hear them.

Grissom had instructed the young man to lay on the ground, and it seemed to relax him somewhat. The silence would be interrupted when Nick asked his boss if he heard something. Gil would simply reply that had not been any noise. In fact, the warehouse was solemnly still and silent. The sun continued to bake down on the structure, and Grissom kept Nick still because he knew that the less you moved the better in heat like this.

Gil would give Nick a gentle squeeze to his shoulder when his body stiffened from some unseen enemy or sound. Every once in a while the older man would monitor his CSI's pulse and check his blood pressure with his crude technique. For half an hour it was slightly elevated, then just as suddenly it would drop. Gil slipped his fingers to feel out the investigator's jugular vein, and tried to keep his own concern at bay when he felt it begin to wildly fluctuate.

Nick felt a set of eyes watching him from above. He had remained frozen in place, and hoped that whatever had been staring at him would think he was asleep. The CSI couldn't control his rapid intake of breath when he saw the silhouette of a man looming over him. His heart began to pound again. Those orbs burned from above and glared at him... mocking him. Sweat trickled down his chin as he clutched at his stomach again. His guts twisted with new pain and his nausea returned twofold.

Those yellow eyes were mesmerizing. They seemed to drift in and out at random intervals, just waiting to pounce from above. Nick swallowed but his throat was so dry, his weak cry of fear barely made it out of his lips.

Grissom could feel the shakes begin again. "Nick, it's all right. Whatever you think you're seeing is a trick. It's not here."

Nick tried to tell Grissom just how wrong he was, but found he couldn't articulate his thoughts. It was as if he'd forgotten how to produce speech. Words failed him and the idea that communicating was not longer available increased the panic ten fold.

He bolted up, panting hard. _'If he doesn't control his breathing soon, he'll start to hyperventilate,'_ Grissom thought worriedly and was beside him again, trying to restrain him.

Nick shoved away the smothering hands. The eyes from the ceiling were getting closer.

Nick grabbed Grissom's arm and gripped his biceps tightly. The supervisor gasped. Nicks' vise-like hold hurt, and the pressure was mounting. "Nick, let... go," he said in between clenched teeth.

It didn't matter. The panic swelled again and the younger man started searching for a place to hide. He had to get away from those prying eyes. The hollow laughter was back, and it was tinged with a very familiar voice that he just couldn't place. He latched onto his supervisors' arm; all his fear channeled into his grip.

Grissom tried to pry Nick's fingers away. He was going to leave one hell of a bruise. "Nick!" Grissom yelled, trying to get his attention.

The younger man looked at his friend and saw the yellow eyes reflected in Grissom's reading glasses. Whatever evil that was in this warehouse was now invading his mentor. Nick couldn't scramble away fast enough. He couldn't take his eyes off of Grissom's spectacles.

Grissom cradled his arm and absently rubbed at it to ease the pain. The supervisor tried to keep eye contact with the frightened man still trying to back away from him. Gil's head pounded from his own headache. His body was weary from having its energy zapped by the soaring temperature. He slowly stood and used small steps. The warehouse wasn't that big, it wasn't like Nick could get lost inside. No, his CSI was mixed up in his own mind, and Grissom needed to remain a tether to reality.

"Nick, it's me... Grissom ... your boss." Gil searched for any resemblance of the man he knew as the calm and collected Nick Stokes.

The man in question held his hands out in front of him to warn the supervisor to back away. Nick's face was red, almost sunburned in appearance. His eyes kept rapidly twitching back and forth. It was a wonder Nick hadn't fallen down yet from making himself dizzy.

There were odd sounds coming from deep within the younger man's throat. Strange strangled sobs of protest. Nick had the strangest mix in posture. He looked scared to death, but ready to tear the other criminalist apart.

Grissom gulped. Fear was not something he expected from being in close proximity with one of his colleagues.

"Nick. Whatever you see. Whatever you feel, is _not_ real. Think," the older man reasoned in the clearest way possible.

Nick wavered on his feet, but he never took his sight off the man in front of him. The eyes were no longer yellow. The iris had been leached of color; it was just the infinite darkness of the pupil. Large and empty.

He saw this kind of lifelessness in the bodies he processed. Empty... Soulless... Every aspect of the human condition absent. The raw horror of death stared back at him.

The muscles along his jaw constricted, but he could only move his mouth slightly. It had to be enough to warn off the evil that sought him.

"S-s-stay... A-Away," he stuttered painfully.

Grissom didn't approach. He wisely kept his distance. "Fine. I'll just stand right here."

For some reason that wasn't enough. Suspects lied to his face all the time. He'd been taught to distrust people, not to listen to words, just actions. The inside of his head buzzed loudly. Doubt crept along and caused the hairs along the back of his neck to stand on end. The evil man was just telling him what he wanted to hear. Look for the evidence. That's right, take in the scene, let the room talk.

The problem was that the room was screaming at him. Nick was trapped and unable to escape. He didn't remember why, but then again, that had always been the last question to answer when investigating a case. It was always the how. Spasms engulfed his calves, the acidic burn shot through his thighs as well. The fluctuations made it extremely difficult to stand. It also didn't help that the room continued to bounce around wildly. He swayed back and forth, barely managing to stay upright.

The suspect just stared at him, that easy going calmness was really starting to piss him off. How many times had he let his guard down before?

Another wave of trepidation passed over him. The enemy wouldn't back down. The image of his father stood before him, lecturing him about strength and weakness. _Don't act the victim. _How many times did he allow himself to fall under that trap?

Grissom felt slightly lightheaded standing so intently. He didn't know whether to move one way or another. Nick seemed caught in some internal battle, and he didn't want to set the man off. All of a sudden feeling very exhausted, Gil carefully lowered himself to the floor. Nick flinched, but he remained rooted in frozen panic a few feet ahead of him.

It was the stench in the air that was really getting to Grissom. Decomposed bodies, rotting flesh, the steel scent of blood, those didn't really bother him. It was the suffocated feeling of the small space itself that made the criminalist take a seat on the ground. He could only take so much of the overbearing stuffiness. It made him feel like the strength was being literally sucked out from him.

The supervisor was impressed in Nick's ability to withstand the overwhelming temperature. Gil debated on trying to communicate. How much could Nick understand in the state he was in?

Just like before, more time elapsed. The minutes ticked away, and the silence of the warehouse was almost overwhelming in the absence of sound. Nick never took his eyes off of the entomologist. After half an hour, the younger CSI simply folded in on himself. His body jerked almost involuntarily. He collapsed to the ground when his legs could no longer bear his weight.

Grissom almost jumped up to his aid, but he held himself back. It wasn't the strange posture, or the eyes that continued to dart around at every sound. There was a disturbance in the air. Gil tried very carefully not to start a spark that would create an unstoppable chain of events that he'd soon regret.

* * *

Nick stared at the filthy floor. He tried to focus, but it proved to be overwhelmingly difficult. His train of thought kept slipping away. The CSI didn't know where he was, and he had no clue how to get away. He had to leave, there was something evil lurking in every corner of this place. Nick drew a shuddering breath; it was a deep guttural sound. He was suddenly cold, and his body shook from the dip in temperature.

The criminalist tried to remember the events of the night. When he was at CSI he'd needed to locate Grissom. The supervisor had disappeared and Nick couldn't get a hold of him. His boss had been missing for a couple of hours and that was very unlike him. Everyone else at the lab had been wrapped up in their own cases, and worry had leached into his mind. Nick had a suspicion about that pharmacy that they'd been to earlier. His boss still hadn't responded to his cell. Maybe that was where the wandering supervisor had to gone off to inspect. That's where Nick's gut told him to go.

So he left, without telling anyone. If anything, he'd prove to the supervisor that his hunch from earlier would prove valid. Or he'd catch his boss already there, and Grissom would be forced to admit that Nick had good instincts as well. Of course, that's not exactly how his boss would rationalize anything. Grissom seldom gave out praise.

Nick flinched, jerked out of his chain of memories. He heard the sound of a film strip moving in perfect cadence to all the images that flashed through his head. The Botánica... the goons had been there. After he had been hit over the head, they brought him to the priest's little hideaway. Grissom was there, to his surprise. Gil had been talking to Jorge Carlos. The criminalist was mad, even livid that Nick had been brought here.

Nick's insides began to twist and jerk. The sharp pain in his gut intensified even more. Nick tried to bite back the bile as waves of sickness enveloped him. His body sent him through the motions of becoming violently ill, only to hold him at the break of relief. No release, just acid that burned along the lining of his throat.

Nick had a sinking feeling that Grissom had lured him here; to this wretched place. He couldn't dare look up now. Not when all the pieces were falling into place. He had to keep low, try to control his body's discontent only a little bit longer. The shadows, the yellow eyes and the vacant stares of death would only pounce on him if he made his move.

Nick felt the dread of breaking a case wide open, confirming his worst fears and releasing the horror of knowing who the perpetrator of this whole terrible ordeal was.The ends of his mouth twitched in pain and disappointment. He shook his head.

_No No No No No...  
_  
It couldn't be, but a tiny voice in his head told him that he'd been duped. Nick had been deceived by a great mastermind. All the clues were here, but being the empathic weak person that he was, the CSI had up until this point chosen to ignore it. The room was talking to him, had been whispering the truth in his ears the whole time.

Grissom always told him that crime scene spoke to you if you would just let it. Now the absolute fear and anxiety of what was happening hit him all at once. Nick squeezed his eyes tightly as tears slipped away down his cheek.

Nick lifted his head up and stared back at the abyss mocking him. His father's voice boomed in his head. _'A Stokes always faces his fear.'  
_  
His coordination was shaky. The younger man pushed himself to his hands and knees. He ignored the way the room tilted and shook. Nick's face flushed white-hot, the distinct feeling of cold melted away with a new sensation of fire that crackled around his flesh.

Nick grunted from the effort of standing. It was a battle to even maintain a sense of balance. The CSI staggered forward, his intent and purpose was so vividly clear now.

"Nick?"

Grissom looked on with a bit of trepidation of his own. Gil opened his mouth to speak again, but he was at a loss for words. Very slowly he stood up; his knees popped, his back tweaked from the pulled muscle. Gil was very worried. Nick was starting to show signs of his body's deterioration from the drug and heat. The younger man's system could only tolerate so many fluctuations in vital signs, but the supervisor didn't want to take a chance with Nick's current delicate mental state.

Anything the supervisor had done only caused the younger criminalist a great amount of fear and panic. Grissom didn't have the capability to handle this type of situation. Despite feeling torn about what was happening to the young CSI, he'd allowed Nick to withdraw further away and deal with his hallucinations without added pressure. Gil now doubted the success of his plan.

Grissom adjusted his glasses, they were slippery from the sweat that dotted his face. "Nick, are you all right?"

Nick hesitated for a moment as his eyes scanned the room again. The criminalist bit his lip. His mind had found a way to talk again.

"Y-you always looked p-past Warrick's faults. Sara's p-prejudices. Hell, C-Cath gets the benefit of the doubt all the time." Nick felt the anger swell.

Grissom pursed his lips. It confused him that Nick seemed so preoccupied with his insecurities. "We've talked about this already."

"No, we haven't!" His voice was thick, the accent heavy again. "Y-you don't think I'm capable. I've always g-got to have back up. N-Nicky can't work solo or h-he'll screw everything up." His voice was stern, the anger palpable.

Grissom didn't want this to escalate. "I think maybe you should lay back down."

The CSI gritted his teeth. "Stop t-telling me what to do! _Damn_ it Grissom! I'm a CSI l-level 3. Treat me with some respect!" Nick hollered at him.

"I do Nick. However, this is not the time to discuss this. We need to concentrate on the matter at hand," Grissom reasoned.

It didn't seem possible, but Nick's face flushed a bit redder. "You don't g-get it... do you boss? I'm on to it. I'm on to your l-little games."

Nick heard the laughter in the storage area... the shadows swarmed. The faces of the dead were all around him now, washed out like some creepy watercolor painting. They drifted in and out of view. Nick felt his precarious hold to life and sanity slip from his grasp, and he shook in fear.

The warehouse was getting smaller; he was going to _die_ in here.

Grissom stepped closer, Nick was losing it. "Nick, please sit down before you fall down."

Nick's hands balled up into fists at his sides. "You brought me here, Gris," Nick's voice faltered. "I went after you. Tried to help, and all along you knew... didn't you?"

Now Gil held his hands out in an appeasing motion. "Knew about what?"

"This! This damn place!" Nick pointed around the room wildly. "Singling me out all the time during cases just wasn't enough. Guns shoved in my face. Goddamn maniacs living in my attic." Nick shook his head furiously. "I've coped. I've bounced right back."

"Yes, you have, Nick." Grissom was clearly confused. _Calm, keep him calm_, he told himself. "You've done a very good job. You're one of the finest CSI's I've ever worked alongside." Gil switched tactics.

"No, I haven't. Not in your eyes. Not ever!" Nick started screaming again. His head pounded fit to split his skull in two. His stomach was driving him insane. "_Stop patronizing me!_"

Nick's chest heaved in and out rapidly. His eyes burned. The tin box of hell was squeezing the very breath out of him. He felt like he was dying. Nick dug his thumbs against his temples, trying to soothe away the pressure of his skull caving in on him. He bit his lip so hard that he drew blood.

"You did this, Gris. You have to stop it. Please..." Nick beseeched in a choked voice.

Gil started to back away. Little steps like before. "The drug is messing with your mind, Nick. Look at yourself. Do you hear what you're saying?" Grissom worked his jaw from side to side.

"Step testing me. Stop it _now_ Gris!" Nick shook his head while he shakily moved closer to the older man. "Experiment's over."

"Oh, Nicky. Please think about this." Gil kept his hands out in a non-threatening way.

His vision swam in and out again. This _had_ to stop. "You're going to let me out," Nick growled menacingly.

Grissom froze. He didn't like the tone that his colleague had taken. "I... I can't."

The cool calmness of his tone. Grissom was so damn collected, because he was the reason for all of this. The warehouse was closing in around him. A shrilling noise filled his ears. Nick couldn't take the claustrophobia anymore.

Nick let out a strangled cry and lunged. He plowed right into the man responsible for all of this.

Grissom watched in frightened awe as Nick's expression morphed. The scream that escaped the younger CSI's lips broke his heart. It was that reason alone that kept him from being prepared as Nick Stokes charged at him like an insane bull.

Gil Grissom was tackled with tremendous force. He felt like one of those dummies that a younger Nick must have used in training during football season. However, Gil was not an inanimate object meant to take the brunt of uncontrolled fury. His breath was knocked right out of him and he was left dazed on the ground.

Grissom held his hands out defensively in front of him, but it wasn't enough to take the punishment of an ex-jock in his prime. The supervisor took several powerful blows to his face. His glasses had been knocked off his nose, and his chest hurt from being pinned to the ground by a knee.

Gil Grissom was now in his own full blown panic mode. His heart lurched in his chest when he felt a powerful hand clasp around his throat, shutting off his air supply.

"_Make it stop!_" Nick's bellow echoed in the room.

* * *

Notes: The updates will now be more frequent. This chapter was kept long because of pacing needed to do it properly. Thank you again for the immense support for this story. It took me a long time to write this, to try to get everything right in my head and for it to express what I wanted the characters to experience the correct way.

P.S.-Too overwhelmed to discuss GD. My reactions can be seen in a co-story I'm writing with Shacky and several one shots. later on.

shacky-

Thank you very much for the support. The Gil and Nick dynamic is such a wonderful thing to write. The drug plot device was the only way to explore this journey the way I wanted to.

csisam-

Don't hold your breath too long...hope this chapter was fulfilling!

mudhousejunkie-

Good to see you again. Thanks for your constant support for all my work.

designation-

I really needed to write a lot of good imagery...to let the reader get a sense of what Nick is going through. Glad you liked those sentences, its neat to see what catches a writer's attention. As far as Nick pushing past Gil, well he is panicked ..hope it wasn't too cliched, but he is really hallucination very badly about now, and the sense of panic and fear of death is too overwhelming for him based on my medical research.

amarawind-

Another fix for you my dear. Thanks for the compliments..the best one are when readers can actually see this transpire. Thank you very much..it means the world to know that this plays out very real.

a.remains-

Thank you so much..I'm gushing..really. Again I'm thrilled to know people find the Gris and Nick interactions beliveable..it was the goal of the story.

mad maggie-

Thank you. yes, I do have a thing for Nick!

rozzy-

You are the bomb! I always look forward to what you think. Glad to see people picking up on the slow deterioration of Nick's mental state as well as his physical..he's going through a lot. Glad the descriptions are vivid enough to feel dread and fear Nick is feeling.

m2s-

I love all of Nick's traits, why do we put him through such horror? Because he's strong and can endure and brings out the best in others and their interactions.

sarah-

Thank you for the support!

higherbeingfriendsfan-

I think this would be one of the few ways that Nick could ever express his anger and darker feelings...yep, too bad it because he's doing it because he's loosing his mind.

wolfwood-

Indeed. Gil I think would be one of the few who would have the control and collectiveness to handle this situation, poor Gris, he's going to have a very tough time right now.

pike-

Thanks!

Miss Anonymous hp-

Its after Stalker. When I was reading all the effects of the drug Nick was injected with, I had to really put myself in his head and then in that particular cramped, warehouse and let my imagination run wild! Glad it worked!

groban-

Just for you, I posted today! Thank you for the continued support, you're the best! Sigh, left you with another cliffhanger! No other way!

silverdragon-

No past experinces..just a totally absorption of a ton of research. Glad that it could efffect you in that way..means that I'm getting Nick's condition across effectively.

amy-

Thank you. Some of the beat thing I could hear! Lots of time on the Internet, reading and taking notes. Plus a wonderful beta to help!


	5. Chapter 5

Nick had his left hand wrapped around Gil's throat as he delivered another powerful punch to his face with his mangled right hand. The supervisor clawed at the fingers wrapped around his windpipe. He pulled a few of them away and it allowed him to suck in a much needed breath.

"Please... Nick," Grissom begged in between ragged breaths.

Gil kneed Nick in the gut while trying to block another vicious swing with his arm. The younger CSI missed Gil's face and his fist skipped off his forearm. Grissom kneed his coworker once again to no avail; obviously the drugs coursing through Nick's system desensitized him to pain. The older man pulled his leg up and wedged it against Nick's stomach and chest. With great difficulty, Gil rolled to his side, knocking Nick off balance.

Grissom got to his feet as quickly as his body would allow. His jaw hurt, at least one filling was loose. The left side of his face throbbed in pain, but he took a defensive stance just in case. His mind raced with what to do next. The entomologist was no match with Nick in an all out brawl, even though the younger man was so close to falling on his face for good.

Nick had landed on his back. With the room lurching to one side, it took him a long moment to get his bearings. Grissom didn't hurt him, but the blows to his stomach caused his already churning insides to wildly protest the abuse. Nick hacked, but managed to regain his footing. The Texan staggered forward as he fought his screwed up equilibrium. The room swelled, the ever encroaching darkness messed his sense of distance.

Grissom continued to back away towards the entrance. He never took his eyes off his criminalist. "Nicky, please calm down."

"I'm not listening to your lies," he growled. Nick stumbled forward, his injured hand draped around his middle protectively.

The older CSI made a mental note of Nick's discomfort for tactical advantage. His mind screamed at him, he didn't want to fight with this terrified man. This was the same green kid he took into his lab to help develop him. Grissom was going to tear Jorge Carlos limb by limb when this was all done. _If_ he and Nick lasted long enough.

"I bet I'm your favorite now," Nick hissed.

Gil didn't have time for a retort before he saw the charge coming. Grissom tried to side step, but just like a linebacker, Nick kept up with the other man and followed through. The older man braced for the tackle and he was slammed against the wall next to the doors. Gil grunted when Nick's shoulder jabbed his sternum.

The younger CSI reared his hand back to punch the stunned older man, but Grissom was a bit more prepared. He ducked the swing, balled up his fist and rammed it into Nick's stomach.

Nick doubled over as his body finally revolted. The younger man stumbled over next to one of the crates and went to his hands and knees. Nick heaved and hacked till he couldn't breathe anymore. He threw up stomach acid and bile. There wasn't anything else to purge from his system. Tears rolled down his face and he rolled to his side trying to get away from the stench that continued to gag him.

Grissom stood motionless. Survival instinct told him to stay put, not to go near the paranoid man. This wasn't Nick, this wasn't his friend and colleague. The other part of him demanded to go over there and lend some kind of aid or comfort. Grissom's nerves were frayed.

Nick's insides seemed to calm a bit. He crawled around on the ground. His hand brushed past the tool box that still laid next to one of the wooden boxes. He leaned his back against the crate, as the CSI struggled to even out his breathing. Nick felt his strength wane further. His skin burned, his flesh felt like it was peeling away in layers.

Nick heard the laughter again as the room filled with the deep booming of his father's voice. The humiliation stung. How much more did he have to prove to everyone? He was dying. The air was thinning out. To die from suffocation was a slow and agonizing way to go. The heat swelled again, he would not sit here and meekly wait for death. He'd fight it tooth and nail.

The investigator felt his legs twitch. His damn body betrayed him... just like his mentor. Nick's foot jerked again, and it tapped the tool box. A loud clanking sound startled him.

It was the tire iron that fell from its precarious resting spot next to the crate. Nick's eyes grew large. The whispers filled his ears. He dragged his exhausted body over to the item and picked it up. He gripped the tire iron and peered up at the older man.

Grissom had come to a decision. Nick was still his responsibility, it wasn't the younger man's fault that he been subjected to this nightmare. He was hurting and Gil needed to do something about it. He started to go over to him when he heard the clatter. He watched in muted horror when the young CSI took the tire iron in his hands.

Gil locked eyes with Nick's and saw madness reflected back. "Don't," he choked back.

Nick mustered enough energy to get to his feet. He trembled now. The muscles in his body constricted painfully. Nick lurched forward, his new weapon heavy in his hand.

Grissom couldn't keep the sight of all of Nick's baseball trophies out of his head. The team had helped him pack and move to another townhouse a few months ago after the Nigel Crane incident. He could hear Warrick's voice as he ribbed his partner about his college glory days. Nick's cheeks had burned with slight embarrassment. This was a David vs. Goliath situation, and Grissom knew that his David would fail miserably to Nick's insane Goliath.

This wasn't right. Nick was going through hell because of his need to protect Gil from Carlo's goons. Nick had allowed himself to be injected.

Nick loomed closer, and Grissom backed away. Tactics. He had to change the situation. Up until now he'd been pensive, passive; maybe he needed to be the authority figure that Nick felt he needed so much to impress.

"Nicholas Stokes! Drop that tire iron now!" Grissom commanded.

Nick froze. His breath hitched in his chest, and his blood ran cold. Nick blinked, his entire being filled with terror.

"No." It was barely audible, his voice shook so much.

Grissom knew it had been the wrong thing when Nick barged toward him. With his balance off kilter, Nick's swing was off too.

The tire iron missed his head, but it landed squarely on Grissom's shoulder with a 'snap.' Gil groaned, but didn't have time to deal with the pain. Nick shoved the other man against the door and lifted the weapon up to bring back down on him again. Grissom ducked as Nick slammed the iron down.

Nick felt the tire iron vibrate in his hand when it bounced from its impact with the wooden door. This didn't stop his next attempt and he missed wildly again. Nick battled with his aim, but his damned sense of distance and balance kept him from delivering a fatal blow.

Grissom knew his luck would not last, so with more agility then he thought he had, the older man whipped around the CSI. Grissom was taller and he used his height to his advantage. The supervisor ignored the white hot agony of his shoulder and wrapped one arm around Nick's chest. Gil grabbed Nick's wrist and plunged his hand with the weapon into the wooden door.

The scientist knew that Nick was suffering from poor muscle control and the weapon slipped from his grip. The older man then shoved the crook of his arm along the frantic man's throat. Gil took his other hand and gripped his own elbow until he had Nick in a half-Nelson choke hold. It was the only way he thought he stood a chance of subduing the other man.

Grissom held on for dear life as Nick bucked back. The younger man jerked one way then another as he frantically tried to escape. Grissom tightened his hold, and Nick yelped and dug his hands into the other criminalist's arm. Grissom grit his teeth against the pain, but he felt Nick weaken.

The younger man coughed and wheezed as his struggles slowed. Grissom didn't let go, even when Nick fell to his knees. With one final hack, Nick's eyes rolled to the back of his head and his body slackened. With his body limp, Grissom let go and Nick slid lifelessly down to the floor.

Gil breathed rapidly as the adrenaline rush wore away. His entire body hurt, and he was pretty sure his collar bone was broken. He pushed his pain away and pulled Nick's limp body into his lap. Grissom wrapped his arms around the unconscious man after checking to make sure he still had a pulse. After the life and death struggle and the turbulent roller coaster ride of his emotions, the graveyard shift supervisor let out a strangled sob.

Gil Grissom, the Vulcan of the crime lab, rested his chin on the top of Nick's head and closed his eyes. Gil rocked back and forth with his charge, murmuring quietly. His responsibility was to teach his colleagues and keep them safe. With Nick, Grissom felt like a miserable failure.

"Oh, Nick," he sighed. All he could do was pray and Grissom didn't even have the strength for that.

TBC...

* * *

sokerfreak-

Glad you're enjoying things. When I write a story, I complete the whole thing and break it up in parts that make sense. I didn't try to end each chapter the same way. I think Nick's frame of mind were different at the end of each section. I hope it comes off like that. From terrified and confused to, enraged and out of his mind.

higherbeingfriendsfan-

Thank you very much. Trying to keep these two men in character was tough, with what each is going through, but I've loved it!

Amy-

Thank you for taking the time to provide such wonderful insight. I did a ton of research on PCP, and I'm glad Nick's reactions and actions were believable with such an injection. It would totally bring out his paranoia, fear, and insecurities, as well sadly, violence and uncontrolled aggression.

a.remains-

You're welcome! So you like it:-P

Designation-

Got your e-mail. Thank you for taking the time to write!

Groban-

Maybe I should put heart rating on this! Glad it has such an impact, it means a lot as a writer to hear such things from a reader. hugs you back Hoped you liked this current one as well.

amarawind-

Thank you! After all the pain from Grave Danger, I thought this fic might be too dark and too much right now. Wished I was able to finish it before the finale, but I did a lot of rewriting. Glad you can still read through it.

wolfwood-

Thank you again. I'm so thrilled that Nick and Gil come across as real! Makes me very happy to hear. As far as GD, Shacky and I are making good progress!

rozzy-

My pal, my wonderful reader! Loss of words? I feel the same way. I could never imagine having this kind of impact on a reader, and its very gratifying to hear. I love writing in great detail, my whole point is to convey emotion from the characters and I do so by lots of description, getting into their psyche, and I will always strive to be rich in imagery and try to come up with some original stories.

mad maggie-

Thanks again for the support. I hoped chapter 5 was fast enough..it certainly goes in a different direction.

Misss anoymous hp-

Thanks again. I hope you're still breathing after this little one. this was a tough one for my little heart. Poor Nicky. Poor Gil

mudhousejunkie-

I know its quite a shock and Nick will have to deal with it later. However PCP really, messes with your mind..its a nasty drug. Nick has no idea what he is really doing.

cl-

Glad to see you back. Saw you read 3, hoped you liked 4!


	6. Chapter 6

Grissom had collected himself enough to try to take stock in the situation. He moved Nick's head gently to the floor. The supervisor kept his left arm close to his side, as not to irritate his injury, and hoisted himself off the floor. He grabbed the tire iron, went to the far corner of the warehouse and deposited it in the darkness. He trudged back to the tool box and opened it. It had two compartments that were basically empty except for a few nails and a screw driver. One thing caught the man's eye; it was a piece of a stop sign torn in half, and Grissom got that "look" in his eyes. He grabbed it and laid it down next to where Nick was currently sprawled out. Not wanting to take any other chances, Grissom carried the metal box and its contents to the same place as the tire iron.

Gil didn't want those items to come into play again; however, he doubted Nick would be any shape to use them against him. Once that was done, Grissom settled back down on the floor with his unconscious colleague. The supervisor checked Nick's pulse; it was slow and weak. Noticing that his fingers came away moist, Gil pushed the younger man's damp hair away from his forehead.

The other man was still sweating profusely, and the scientist in him wondered how long it would take till Nick's internal thermostat might overload itself. Careful of his injured shoulder, Grissom picked up the broken sign and began to fan the unconscious figure. The supervisor fumbled a bit as he tried to hold onto the thin metal sheet awkwardly with his right hand. He didn't want to overexert his own strength, but the sick man needed to be cooled off somehow.

For the next hour the entomologist alternated between sitting to rest and kneeling while circulating the hot stale air in their little prison. The older man tried to use the perspiration on Nick's skin as a kind of crude cooling system. Grissom dropped the sign after his collarbone couldn't tolerate the increased movement. He decided to keep still for a while, as his own headache raged inside his temples.

Grissom went about checking the capillary refill in the young CSI's nail beds. The older man frowned; he had to use the criminalist's left hand, since the younger man's broken right hand had already swollen up to twice its size. Grissom arched his eyebrow with concern. He worried about how much more damage had been inflicted on the broken hand when Nick managed to deck him a few times. Out of reflex, the older man rubbed at his sore jaw wearily.

It was silent in the warehouse, and the supervisor was forced to deal with the grim thoughts in his head. Even under the heavy influence of drugs, Gil wondered where the paranoia began and Nick's own frustrations ended. Did the younger man really feel that he was under the boot of an unapproving boss? Grissom usually didn't dwell on feelings very much. They tended to get in the way of an effective unit. However, Gil always knew the key to one of the best crime labs were its people, as they were the cogs in a well oiled machine. He wasn't totally shut off from the world of humanity; however, sometimes that door to his mind kind of got stuck and remained closed off. In his line of work, he couldn't afford to let his emotions rule.

Grissom's brow furrowed. Nick sought confirmation from his superiors. Somehow the shift leader was a measurement of expectations and worthiness. Grissom groaned inwardly. Catherine once told him that people were building a family around him; he just wasn't comfortable with his patriarchal role right now.

Gil was ripped from his musings when the object of his scrutiny groaned. Grissom grit his teeth, scooted next to the younger man and gently touched his shoulder.

"Nick? Can you hear me?" The supervisor waited, unsure what kind of reaction to expect.

Brown half open frightened eyes stared back at him. Nick's impossibly wide pupils darted around at the ceiling, as if searching for some unseen enemy.

Gil tried to get the other man to focus on him. "It's okay, Nick. You're safe. Can you understand me?"

Nick tried to articulate his woozy thoughts. The shadows were swooping in on him, the cold void was so heavy on his chest. His arms and legs felt numb; he tried to move them to no avail. Nick felt his breath hitch in his parched throat. Grissom was talking to him, trying to get his attention.

"Gris?" His voice was horse, a mere whisper.

Grissom heard the fear and gave the man a slight squeeze to his shoulder. "Yes? How are you feeling?"

Nick swallowed; it was so difficult to keep his throat from closing in on him. His heart continued to slam against his chest. "I-I can't move m-my legs."

That wasn't the answer that Gil was expecting. The supervisor wandered over and undid the shoestrings to Nick's boots. He fumbled with the strings for a few moments and pulled the Timberland off. Grissom ignored the wet, soaked through socks and pinched Nick's toes.

"You feel that?"

The CSI felt something. It wasn't pain, since nothing tingled. It was like his feet were made of rubber.

"I can't move em." Nick's voice went up an octave in panic.

"Okay, okay," Grissom said calmly. He squeezed and prodded each toe. "But you can feel this, right Nick?"

Nick gulped. "Yeah. It... it... feels strange."

Grissom went from the ankle, to his calf, to his knee, pressing and prodding. "Feel the pressure?" Grissom's tone was all business. He was calculating.

Meat. His legs were a mass of meat; no sensation, just twisted nerves that were firing the wrong way. He still couldn't move them no matter how much Grissom inspected.

"It doesn't matter, Grissom. I can't move my legs, they're all wrong," he yelled, his thick accent heavy.

It wasn't the same violence-fueled voice from earlier. The homicidal-laced tone was gone. No, this time was Nick in full fledged panic mode.

Grissom was beside him again. He grabbed Nick's uninjured hand. "Look at me, Nick."

Command mode. Gil needed to take control of this situation, remain that line to reality before all of Nick's fears consumed him again.

Nick latched on to that calm, collected voice like the drowning man he was. It was hard with all the movement in the warehouse. The air seem to crackle with some sort of energy, like it was alive. He sought out his boss in the dimness, and locked eyes with him.

"You have numbness in your extremities. But you're fine, all right. Everything will be okay, I promise." Grissom sent him a message with his tone, a simple inflection in his voice.

It seemed to work. Nick picked up on that voice, the one that filled him with confidence. Gil Grissom was the annointed one of the crime lab. If you didn't trust his reasoning, then there was nothing else that he could put such faith in.

"Yeah," his voice shook, but he would try.

Nick felt some sort of static electricity in his hand, where his boss still gripped it. The younger CSI concentrated, willed his fingers and muscles to obey his command. He couldn't feel his flesh, his fingertips were absent of sensation. However, something still worked and his hand squeezed Grissom's.

The supervisor smiled. "See, you're still in control. Your body is just a bit sluggish to respond."

Nick didn't feel very much in control of his situation at the moment. He felt vulnerable out in the open, but his body was too drained to do anything about it. He was a sitting duck, one that was slowly being roasted on the concrete floor. He wanted to rip off his clothes; he could see the heat rising from his own body. The steam mixed in with the dark cloud that loomed over him.

Damn shadows shifted around so rapidly, they were a silent menace. Nick wanted to tear his gaze from the high ceiling above, but the spasms in his neck constricted his movement. Undaunted, he craned it to the side and his eyes focused on the floor. The ground looked like it was crawling, moving towards him. Nick's hands shook uncontrollably now, little jerky movements that were beyond his control.

Grissom watched the shakes begin again. Nick's expression crumpled in union with his uncoordinated movements. Grissom grabbed both hands, careful of Nick's injured right one. He tired to keep them still and lend some sort of support. Nick's eyes were focused solely on the floor.

"Nothing's wrong. Nick, whatever you think you see, it's not there." Grissom maintained his professor's voice. "You're stronger than the drugs. You're smarter than any hallucinations."

Grissom held Nick's hands on his chest. He didn't press unnecessarily hard. Gil didn't want to appear as if he was restraining him in some fashion, but the supervisor needed to handle this differently. Somehow Grissom needed to have a hand on this new wave of paranoia and not let it get out of control like before.

Nick heard the logic in his boss's instruction, the confidence in him. He fought against the tidal weave of dread. The laughter was back: it bounced all around him, echoing in his head. Last time he was able to run away, fight against the evil. Now he was trapped by his own body. He couldn't get up, couldn't budge. Now he understood where he was; the realization hit him like a freight train.

Nick was inside an oven. That would explain the darkness, the immense amount of heat that scorched his body. His skin was burning, his blood boiled inside.

"Gris," he croaked.

Nick's entire body was trembling. He might not be able to feel his limbs, but that didn't keep them from shaking.

Grissom touched Nick's face to try to get his attention. His face burned with a high fever. The supervisor cursed; the drug continued to cause his temperature to skyrocket. Grissom let go of Nick's arms and grabbed his makeshift fan. Gil painfully gritted his teeth as a sharp pain shot through his shoulder. He pushed it aside and brought over the sheet metal.

He started to wave it back and forth over the frantic man. The swishing sound filled the dingy little building. The supervisor's arms tingled with fatigue, but he pushed on.

"Feel the breeze, Nicky? Just close your eyes and relax"

Nick clawed at his shirt; the damn thing was suffocating him. His coordination was off; his fingers curled around the cotton, but it was no use. He felt the air move above his head, saw the weird light waves and patterns mutate and flash around him. The air felt somewhat nice on his flushed face, but it wasn't enough to keep the flames at bay.

The tin box was an oversized oven, and Jorge Carlos was outside turning the dials all the way up. Grissom's face was hanging in the air. Gil's face was red; not the shade of anger, but of cooked flesh. It was melting off now, peeling away in layers, the blood beneath the skin bubbling and evaporating right before his eyes.

"No," the word was garbled, trapped in a throat rubbed raw by sandpaper. His mouth was devoid of moisture. "Grissom!"

Gil didn't know what to do. He needed to keep Nick as cool as possible, but he was losing it again, slipping away from him. "Nick, stay with me. Just think of a cool breeze."

His mentor face's burst into flames. His curly hair was on fire, the bones of his skull exposed like in some warped prop of a Shakespearean play. The smell of decaying flesh permeated the dry air. Nick couldn't keep it together, the shock was so overwhelming that he just screamed till it felt like his dried up throat would slough away.

The hell with the sign, Grissom threw it aside. He gripped Nick's shoulder and gently shook him. "Nick, Nick!"

"Burning. You're burning!" Nick screamed.

Grissom was so preoccupied with trying to console the young man that he didn't hear the sounds from outside the doors.

tbc..

* * *

Notes: Again thank you for such detailed feedback. Its always interesting to see what people pick up on, what details they liked, what's a reader's general response is to certain scenes. I'll always write whatever gets my juices flowing, but when I try out new ideas...its always a mystery how people will react to plots. Thank you for being a great, active butch of readers.

shacky-

Thanks again for your wonderful support.

miss anonymous-

Thank you. It had been emotionally stirring to write.

sarah-

Thank you so much. hope the cliffhangers are not too much. If you think you are leaving soon. E-mail me. I might be able to help.

designation-

I love torture! snicker not really. Sorry my dear! I wondered if anyone would recall the tire iron from chapter 2. evil smile. It certainly had an impact. This was so touching to write, glad you enjoyed it.

higherbeingfriendfan-

PCP stays in your system for a decent amount of time. Poor Nick has other things to worry about, his body can only tolerate so much.

snowangel-

Here's more. Thank you!

sokerfreak-

Thank you. It was one of my favorites to write.

a.remains-

Here you go girl!

bpusa-

Thank you.

mudhousejunkie-

The tire iron seemed to freak a lot of people out. Thank you again!

wolfwood-

Grissom can handle himself..its just hard with a drug induced Nick. He's going to have to keep his cool to make it though this.

groban-

Thank you so much for your kind words. Sadly, more paranoia for poor Nicky. I'm sorry. There's no way Gil could just leave Nick alone on the ground after that whole situation.

witchbsword-

Repeat after me. PCP is bad! I ran across Santaria while trying to come up with a post plot for "Snakes", ended up using it for this story. I had in mind. Thank you.

amarawind-

Enjoy your vacation. I'll try to entertain you during the summer! I'll try to make you squirm!

mad maggie-

I'm trying and all your questions will be answered, I promise...in time! I keep on updating so hopefully the suspense continues to build. This last chapter was quite a wind up I hope.

Amy-

Both Nick and Grissom will have a lot of soul searching to deal with. This was a situation that was out of control, but in the end, it does not erase what happened. You will have to wait a bit longer to see if Nick recalls any of this, and if he does, how it will change him.

MS2-

Drama is good! Thank you, comments like your really make me smile.

cl-

you caught up! Always lovely to hear from you. Glad you like the ride. Yep, Gil and Nick need to learn a few things.


	7. Chapter 7

If his hearing was at its best, he might have heard of splintering wood from the first impact. However, Grissom didn't notice the tale tell sound, because the next thing he knew there was a huge thunder-blast. The roar of the Calvary was followed by shouts, frantic screams from Nick and what could have been a herd of elephants from hell barreling in only a few feet away.

"Police! Everyone Freeze!"

Light streamed in, blinding him. Grissom whirled around, still hunched over, placing himself in front of Nick, whose screams only blended in with the chaos of the warehouse.

"Clear!"

"Got two bogies. Freeze!"

"Is that them?"

"Clear, Clear!"

Grissom felt torn between consoling the now near catatonic man next to him and the urge to yell at the SWAT team to shut the hell up. His vision was still a splatter of bright colors, and he couldn't see a damn thing in front of him. The supervisor made out a blurry shape near him.

"Dr. Grissom?"

"Yes," he replied irritably to the shadowy figure.

"We found them!" the voice yelled.

"Everything's all clear," echoed in the room.

Gil shielded his eyes and glanced worriedly down at Nick, who was eerily silent now. The younger criminalist was breathing so rapidly, Gil was certain he was going to pass out. Grissom took his CSI's limp hand. "Nicky, help's here. You're safe."

Grissom felt reanimated; this is what he had hoped for so many hours now. He stood up and did his best to continue ignoring all his aches and pains. His vision was adjusting slowly. Several SWAT officers were already exiting the tiny warehouse after their sweep, but there were still three hovering around the door. Before Gil could give his first order, Jim Brass huffed his way in.

The gruff man took in the sad sight of Gil Grissom and swiftly made his way over.

"Jesus, Gil. What the hell happened to you?"

Grissom fixed the Captain with a glare that could halt traffic. "Get these men out of here now, Jim!"

Brass seemed flustered as his expression switched from relief to worry. "Damn it Gil! What's goin' on? Did one of those assholes do this?" Jim indicated the bruised and battered supervisor's face.

The older man pointed past the detective, his finger extended towards the hulking crowd of officers. "These men, need to leave. Now!" Grissom barked.

Jim Brass's expressive face showed his unhappiness, but turned to his men and dispersed them. The highly efficient team cleared the warehouse as the older detective stepped closer towards his colleague and peered down at Nick Stokes' quivering form on the ground. "My God, Gil..."

Grissom stooped him mid sentence. "We need a set of EMT's here ASAP. I don't care if you have to order air and rescue. The quicker the better. Get them here, and then I'll explain. I don't want anyone else in this building, got it?"

Brass had only heard that tone once or twice in his life. Knowing that questions could wait, he got on his radio and informed the proper authorities of the need for immediate medical assistance. Come hell or high water, paramedics would get here as fast as possible.

The Captain had EMT's on standby when he conducted their little raid. A huge fourlane accident several miles away had diverted the much needed medics. He'd let them go. Now Jim's usually calm demeanor was definitely shaken by the urgency and weird insistence of his colleague. Jim returned back to the cramped building after he kept his promise to keep the entrance empty.

Jim entered a bit more cautiously, acutely aware of the seriousness of the situation. He squatted next to the two men on the ground and nervously ran his hands through his thinning hair as he watched the Graveyard supervisor mutter self assurances to a nearly unconscious Nick Stokes.

Grissom looked up at him. "Get everyone away from the entrance. I don't want a crowd. Grab a car and park it near the entrance with the air conditioning on full blast. Find as many bottles of water that you can get your hands on."

Jim finally found the use of his vocal cords. "I'm on it. But, Gil, I can't keep Warrick away. He came here with us, while the others went to the pharmacy. I've had my boys literally restraining the guy."

Grissom bit his lip. "Let him in, but I need everything else right now," he said rather curtly.

Brass was out the door before Gil finished his last syllable. Nick wasn't hyperventilating any more, but he also didn't seem to notice Gil's presence.

Grissom heard another set of hurried footsteps and Warrick Brown was instantly next to both men. The supervisor glanced up at the lanky man, who was breathing rather harshly. Grissom cut him off from what he knew would be a barrage of questions by raising his hand.

"Jim's bringing a car around. I need you to help me get Nick into the front seat. Try not to spook him."

Grissom kept his left arm snug against his chest as he maneuvered his way to one side of the sick CSI.

Warrick chewed on the inside of his lip. The tension was so thick right now you could cut it with a knife. He couldn't keep his need for answers silent for very long, but it was plainly obvious that action was more pertinent right now than information. He went to Nick's other side, and breathed in deeply when he saw his friend's state. The man was definitely in bad shape.

The CSI pulled Nick up in unison with Grissom, draping the ex-jock's arm around his neck and wrapping his left arm around the slim waist. Nick was all dead weight, despite the fact that the Texan struggled to get his feet underneath him and failed miserably.

Grissom grunted, his face looked pinched with pain. It was the first time Warrick noticed the bruising all around Grissom's face, and it looked like someone used him as a punching bag. The older man was having a very difficult time shouldering his burden. Warrick grappled with his charge, now in full blown concern mode. Was his supervisor more injured than he appeared?

Both men literally dragged the criminalist out of the warehouse. Nick was mumbling incoherently, and thrashed around a bit as he fought against their efforts to lead him out of the grimy prison. Warrick took on most of Nick's weight, and carried the man over to the awaiting vehicle despite Nick's weak attempts to get out of both men's grasps.

Grissom had been talking in soft whispers the whole time, and that alone made Warrick even more nervous about this whole situation. Jim yanked open the door to his car and anxiously awaited his next set of instructions.

"Move the seat back to give him some leg room," Grissom huffed between heavy breaths.

Brass adjusted the set and leaned it back as well. Gil handed Nick to Warrick, groaning when he was relieved of the weight. Warrick angled Nick into the seat as best he could from his end.

The car's engine was running, the air going at full blast. The blessed cold felt good even from Gil's position. Nick was somewhat situated in the vehicle's seat, his body still racked by that damn trembling, but at least he wasn't fighting them any more. Nick's head lolled to one side and he panted harshly.

The supervisor held out his left hand out expectantly. "I need that water."

The shell shocked detective wordlessly handed him a bottle. He had several more stuffed in his rumpled suit pocket and was awaiting several more from his guys. Brass had sent men scrambling for as much water as they could find, not knowing a damn thing about what was going on, but he did have a sinking suspicion.

Grissom took the bottle and resisted gulping some of it down himself. His own throat was parched, his mouth cottony and dry. He quickly undid the cap and started pouring the fresh liquid over his CSI's chest, neck, and into his hair.

Grissom tersely snapped his fingers. "I need more."

The supervisor was rewarded with two more bottles. He quickly soaked Nick's head and face with the liquid in one, and dumped the rest over his already wet T-shirt. Grissom poked his hand out again and it was swiftly filled with another one. This time the supervisor gently patted Nick's face.

"Nicky, can you open your mouth?" Gil knew it was doubtful he'd get a response, but he had to try.

His criminalist didn't react, and Grissom carefully dribbled water over Nick's lips and into his partially open mouth. The much needed liquid instead dribbled down his cheek, and Grissom sighed in frustration.

"What are the medic's ETA?"

Jim felt relieved that he could now speak. "Maybe another five or ten minutes. We're in the middle of nowhere, but I know they're hauling ass as we speak. Chopper would have done no good; it's being used for a serious car pile up on the strip."

"What the hell is goin' on Grissom? Those assholes squeeze you for information?" Warrick demanded, tired of being pushed aside.

"If only we were so lucky," Gil muttered under his breath.

The supervisor took some of the water and drank it down slowly. He closed his eyes briefly, relishing the coolness of the refreshment. Grissom had been so keenly focused on the well-being of his coworker that he never took stock of his situation. He glanced around and noted a virtual army of cops canvassing the area. Almost all of Jorge's goons were handcuffed and were kneeling down close to the house that Gil and Nick had been held in earlier.

"Gil," Jim pressed onward with his need for answers.

"Short version. We were held in that warehouse by Jorge Carlos. The priest injected Nick with some form of PCP, or PCP mixture." Grissom peered at two sets of bewildered eyes. "We dealt with it the best we could," he said coldly, his voice empty.

"What? Jesus, Gris. How... I-I mean... why?" Warrick stammered, one of the few times he had difficulty with his racing thoughts.

"I don't know and right now, I can't focus on that. PCP, in addition to all of the havoc it does to your nervous system, raises your body temperature. We've been stuck in that damned oven for hours with no food or water. We've got to keep heat stroke at bay as much as possible," Grissom explained.

Warrick Brown stared at his supervisor with a horrible realization clouding his features. "Did Nick... hit you, Gris?" He didn't want to say it. Couldn't believe that the words came out of his mouth.

Grissom fixed him with an icy glare. His face twitched. "Not a word," he replied in between clenched teeth.

Brass didn't voice any of his own questions. He had an idea about what happened, and that was a subject best discussed for a later time.

Warrick knew that he should back down, but his mouth for once was ahead of any rational thought. "But..."

Grissom got right into his coworker's face, the veins around his face were popping out with the intensity of his anger. "This wasn't his fault. Got it!" Grissom hissed. "This was all the carefully orchestrated charade of..."

The supervisor saw the movement out of the corner of his eye. His head shot up when he spotted the priest being loaded into one of the patrol cars.

"Bring that man here now!" Gil commanded. Gil turned to Warrick, "Keep en eye on Nick."

The Captain looked over at whom the supervisor was screaming about. Jim hurried over and helped "escort" Jorge Carlos over.

The Detective brought him to another car parked only a few feet away from where they were tending to the ill criminalist.

Despite a great deal of pain, Grissom grabbed the handcuffed man by his shirt lapels and slammed him against the side of the patrol car. The officer was about to interfere, but moved away when Jim Brass signaled him to back off.

Grissom was breathing hard, his fury barely contained. "You're going to tell me exactly how much poison you gave my criminalist and what exactly was in it. Or heaven help you," The enraged CSI seethed.

Jorge Carlos squirmed a little and fixed the agitated man with a cool glare. "Your anger is unnecessary, señor. I merely steered him on the path, it's up to him if he completes the journey."

Grissom's body shook with barely controlled rage, but before he could act upon it, he heard the distant sound of sirens approaching the isolated area.

* * *

Author's notes:

What else can I say, other than thank you again for such support. What a wonderful and engaging amount of readers.

rozzy-

I'm glad I've kept you on the edge of your seat, its boring just to dally around too much. (smiles). I really liked peeling away the layers of Grissom's wall, and its been interesting digging deep into Nick's psyche using a cattle prod so to speak! Thank again for your detailed comments, they make a writer blush and beam.

Lament-

Thank you. Gil has so many roles, that even he's not sure of them.

MS2-

I really wanted to write about Gil and Nick without anyone else coming into the picture, the challenge of doing so lent it self to this dark little plot. Its be a joy to write and kept me on my toes.

Designation-

I kind of dealt you a curve ball with this chapter. I couldn't keep the guys in that warehouse too long, then plot would only stagnant I think if I did.

Vonnie-

Thank you for your wonderful words. Glad to know that everything is realistic and that you can imagine all the things going on in Nick's head. A true compliment.

Silverdragon-

Yeah! This is kind of a thriller, isn't it. Thanks again, glad I could create a pretty intense little story.

a.remains-

Take hulluncations and add extreme hat, and I felt it would contribute to the type of scary imagery Nick would see.

Groban-

They are out! Still some stuff to deal with, but I couldn't trap my CSIs too long. Glad you are having so much fun! Hoped the update was quick enough.

amarawind-

Yeah imagine laying under the sun on that beach for hours, with no water. Poor Nicky. Glad you're having a nice vacation.

mudhousejunkie-

I'm tickled. I think this story is going to be know for the "tire iron" scene. (smiles)

csifan-

Here you go! No more "bashing" Gil and Nick. However, the violence in this story was not meant to be shock factor issue, just a sad result of the growing insanity that Nick was enduring.

Higherbeingfriendsfan-

Gil will have a lot of time to dwell on his experience inside that place, maybe he'll come to some conclusions.

pip-

Breathe my friend!

mad maggie-

Its my addiction to write these stories, gives me a lot of happiness. Its also very exciting to know that other people do enjoy it. Glad I was able to keep you on the edge of your seat! Thank you so much!

nikki-

Here's an update. Thank you.

pike-

Thank you.

sarah-

Thank you. This still has a few chapters so we shall see.

Amy-

I agree. I love Grissom, and I think he's brilliant, however he doesn't seem know how to articulate emotions, or just is not very good at responding and dealing with them. Not a negative quality, its just his way and I'm sure its very frustrating.

When you write multiple chapters of a story you tend to run out of pronouns. I hate writing a characters name over and over..seems old. However, I've always loved Nick's slight accent. Its seems to get thicker when he's angry or dealing with stress. Since I adore it, and its noticeable that he is from Dallas, I like to refer to him as the Texan every once in a while as a term of endearing.

sokerfreak-

Thank you.

wolfwood-

I agree. Gil has a very commanding way, he seems to capture respect. Nick really looks up to him, especially in season 2. He's a very smart man and I'm not sure anyone else would have been able to handle Nick. Of course not sure if anyone else would inspire such intense emotions from Nick as well.


	8. Chapter 8

Grissom's heart skipped a beat at the sound of the arrival of medial help. His mind and body weary, he eyed the priest with a cold, unrelenting stare. "No more of your so-called words of wisdom. I want to know what... and why," he growled.

Jorge Carlos didn't flinch, but his eyes twitched ever so slightly. He let out a sigh and shook his head. "We'll never know the full extent of the imbalances. It was merely a test for the both of you."

The supervisor's eyes narrowed as his impatience sucked away his more rational thought.

The priest must have sensed the impending explosion. "If he treaded in the white side, then he would survive only if your soul did as well. The both of you needed to rely on each other to successfully walk along the twisted path. If either soul was masked by the dark light, then it would have consumed you both."

"What. Did. You..."

Jorge Carlos grunted, interrupting another tirade. "White dust, the eyes of Yeta, and the essence of life."

Jim, Warrick, and Grissom could all hear the sirens getting closer; the need for vital information was getting more urgent.

Brass edged Gil aside, and grabbed the priest's chin roughly. "English, you yahoo."

"PCP, Mescaline, and water. Potent, but not too much," he simply stated. The Latino casually looked at the supervisor. "About 10 milligrams total, two-thirds to one-third, then I diluted it a bit."

The supervisor felt anger radiate through his body, and his posture must have alerted his friends. Both Warrick and Brass pulled him away before Grissom pummeled the priest into jelly.

Gil fought against his coworkers, who literally removed him from the madman. He pressed his hands to his knees, breathing the dry air deeply in order to slow down his pounding pulse. The entomologist knew ripping the guy apart would not help his CSI at all in this situation. The fury did, however, keep him energized enough to continue to deal with this crisis.

Grissom turned away, not trusting his own fragile hold on his feelings. He stalked back over to Jim's patrol car as the ambulance finally arrived. Warrick had followed him back over to the vehicle. Jim made sure the priest had been dragged away, and he kept near his coworkers.

Both CSI's stayed near Nick, who was starting to come to with the cold air still blowing on his overheated body. The EMT's piled out of their rig and rushed over to the huddled group. Grissom meet them as they reached the car and indicated that they needed to focus their attention on Nick.

The supervisor read the approaching caregiver's name badge, the younger one's name was Frank, and gave the man the bullet.

"This is Nick Stokes. Age 32. He' a criminalist at the Las Vegas police department. I'm not aware of any medical problems or allergies."

Gil took a deep breath as he launched into a summary of what happened.

"This man was injected with a mixture of PCP and Mescaline in liquid form about," he glanced down at his watch in surprise, "six hours ago. It was a high dose, 10 milliliters, but it was supposedly diluted by water."

Grissom remained to one side of the door, trying to give the two men room to perform their jobs.

Frank knelt next to Nick, took a penlight and shined it into his pupils to test for a response. The EMT's partner handed him a blood pressure cuff, in which he wrapped around the CSI's arm, and he inflated it. The medic counted the criminalist's pulse as he scanned his readings. His face scrunched up in frustration.

Frank turned to his partner. "His vitals are all over the place. Been bouncin' around... right now BP's 70/55. Pulse is 80." The medic felt Nick's face with the back of his hand and frowned. "Man, he's got to have a body temp of over 104." The EMT inspected Nick's forearm, palpating the area. "He's got no veins. We need to start a wide open bore IV, he's dry as a bone."

The other medic went through his box of supplies and stepped in to establish an IV. He cursed several times when he couldn't get a flash; he pressed down hard, but was finally able to insert it. He held up the bag of fluid. Frank inserted an ear thermometer to get a more accurate reading of his patient's temperature.

Nick started to push away the EMT's hands while muttering loudly. He still couldn't speak coherently, but his irritation was clearly obvious as he tried to swat away at the offending thermometer.

"Please, sir, just hold on a second," the medic tried to calm the agitated man.

"Nick, it's all right. These men are here to help," Grissom tried to interject some calm.

Grissom relayed his worries to the EMT's. "We were held in that warehouse without air conditioning, ventilation or supplies. I think he's suffering from heat exhaustion. He's been in this car for several minutes and I tried cooling him off with water."

The medics nodded, and the lead checked his readings. "Yep, temp's 105.5." He turned to Grissom. "What kind of reactions has he had to the PCP? Any vomiting? Loss of conciseness? Violent behavior?" The medic eyed the older man in front of him and studied his face. "I'm going to guess by the look of things he did suffer from extreme mood swings, and got physically violent. Once we stabilize him, we'll need to check you out, sir."

Warrick and Brass stood far back enough to allow the medics to work, but they were both eager to hear what happened in that warehouse. Warrick kept looking back and forth at both his coworkers. The more he thought about what kind of nightmare his friends had just gone through, the more pissed off he became.

Grissom ignored the EMT's last comment. "He's been delusional, paranoid, and did get confrontational. He's been nauseous most of the time, vomited twice, his vitals have fluctuated between a high and low pulse and BP. He's been breathing rapid and shallowly, experienced loss of muscle function and coordination, spasms, and he broke his hand." Gil worked his jaw again, "He also sustained several blows to the stomach as well."

Frank took in the information and turned to his partner. "Get a sheet from the cab, soak it with water. We need to transport him ASAP. Get that air conditioning firing inside." The medic looked up at the criminalists. "The heat exhaustion can only exacerbate his symptoms from the drugs. This is going to be tricky."

Nick tried to pull off the BP cuff and he was reaching for his IV. Frank grabbed the criminalist's hands, very careful of his right one, before he could cause any damage and yelled over his shoulder. "Hurry up Johnson, get that gurney over here."

Warrick jumped up to help the other medic. The EMT had grabbed a sheet from his rig, and several police officers and SWAT members were dousing it with bottles of water. The CSI was desperate to do something useful. "I'll take this over there. Your partner wants you to bring that gurney over."

After a few moments of thoroughly soaking the sheet, Warrick carried the fabric over to the others.

"Wait for the gurney," Frank instructed.

Nick was lost in a fog of delirium. He was burning up, and was now surrounded by people trying to hurt him. Their faces were blank, as if all the identifying characteristics were wiped clean. Blurry animated-like mannequins were poking him. His muscles still didn't obey his commands, and he feebly tried to get away.

In his disjointed thoughts he knew he was free from the warehouse, that overheated stove, but now he was completely lost and disorientated. It was overwhelmingly bright out here, everything was stark white, almost brilliant in color. He kept his eyes closed; it felt like he was staring into the baking rays of the sun. The CSI was still burning up, his flesh alternated from feeling fried to freezing.

Johnson returned soon after Warrick, and both medics carefully tried to transfer their uncooperative patient over to the gurney. Brass and Warrick lent a hand as the Texan weakly fought back.

"Come on, let's move him ... carefully... carefully," Frank commanded.

Somehow the four men got Nick flat on his back, and the two medics started to put on restraints. Brass and the two CSI's were about to protest such an action, but the EMT's overrode them.

"This is for his own safety as well as ours," Frank explained as he placed Nick's hands in soft restraints, very carefuly as not to injure his mangled right one any further. His partner secured his legs and torso.

Nick was having none of it as he panicked again. "Nooooo! Please... s-stop it! P-please!" he begged.

Grissom edged his way over, and grabbed Nick's hand. "We're out of the warehouse. It's fine, I promise."

The EMT's were young, but they had both seen enough cases of heat illness to determine that the CSI was in the throes of heat stroke. Once he was safely secured, Frank took a pair of scissors and cut away Nick's T-shirt. Then he shredded the man's jeans, cutting from the ankle to his thighs to provide some sort of ventilation.

After stripping away his shirt and creating slits in his pants, the medics draped the man with the wet sheet. They adjusted the IV so it dripped the much-needed electrolytes to the CSI. Frank grabbed an oxygen mask. "Got to give him some O2, he's hyperventilating."

Once Nick was secured to the gurney, the lead medic continued with his examination. He took out his stethoscope and placed it on Nick's chest. He moved it around and concentrated on the sounds. Frank turned to his partner with a grim expression. "Got abnormal breath sounds, crackles in both lungs... that combined with the low BP..." The man shook his head in concern. He checked Nick's nail beds, noting the bluish tinge there as well as around Nick's mouth.

Johnson looked at his boss. "Shocked lung?" he questioned.

The lead nodded his head in an affirmative. "That's what I'm guessing."

Warrick could not keep his worry and confusion at bay. "What's' wrong?"

The lead EMT looked at the CSI. "Acute respiratory distress syndrome. He vomited under too much stress, there could've been aspiration. He has lung damage or inflammation."

Nick's friend looked at him, still frustrated, and not quite sure what that meant.

The other EMT tried to explain in simpler terms. "There's inflammation in his lungs. He's not getting enough oxygen into his blood stream. We'd insert a trach tube, but he's in no condition for that right now. The ER docs are gonna have to sedate him, and we're not allowed to do that in the field."

The trio looked on in muted silence.

Johnson placed an oxygen mask over Nick's nose and mouth. The terrified man shook his head back and forth, but it remained on. Both EMT's loaded the criminalist into the ambulance; Frank hopped in with the gurney while his partner went into the driver's side. The lead medic went on his radio to communicate the sick CSI's latest round of vitals and status.

Warrick helped Grissom into the rig; it was agreed upon that in Nick's mental state it was best if he rode with him. Also, it would give the EMT's a chance to give the older man a cursory exam. Grissom kept his hand on Nick's forearm over the sheet as he tried to keep some form of contact.

The lead EMT opened a door to one of the refrigerated compartments and grabbed three small ice packs.

"See if you can keep him calm. I'm going to place these packs around his neck, groin, and chest. They're the key areas for getting his core temp down, but in his state, it'll only agitate him."

Grissom patted Nick's arm as he wriggled around on the gurney, fighting against the straps holding him still. The medic placed the ice packs around various parts of Nick's body, and re-covered him with the damp sheet.

The ride would last fifteen minutes. Grissom drank an entire bottle of water en route. He refused his own IV, stating that he'd accept one once Nick was admitted. The supervisor kept his word and continued to try to talk to the delusional man. Nick was quieter, clearly worn out by the latest bout of hysteria. The older criminalist otherwise sat in silence as he waited for their arrival to the hospital.

Warrick and Jim had followed behind in a patrol car. Warrick was all ready on the horn to inform Catherine and Sara about the situation. The other team members had split up to follow two different leads. Brass had his foot hard on the accelerator as he tried to keep pace with the ambulance. No words were spoken as they tired to take in on what just happened.

* * *

Author's notes:

I wanted to update this story days ago, but the fanfic website has been down. So here it is! However the down time inspired me so look for some one shots soon!

Slea-

Thank you. I've always been a big fan of friendship stories, they tend to have a higher impact of emotions. Glad you're enjoying this.

csifan-

Sorry you had to wait so long..not my fault this time! Here's some more.

Designation-

Gil wouldn't want the rest of the officers to see Nick in his state and I don't think having a bunch of people gawking at him..even in concern...would be good considering his state of mind. Thanks again!

M2s-

They have to del with things one step at a time. You're too sweet, my dear. Thank you for the continued support.

mudhousejunkie-

Gil would be very protective of Nick after this. Thank you again.

msquirrel-

You're back! Nice seeing you again.

Pip3-

Than you for taking the time to respond. As far as the drug induced things, well it took a while, but finding a dark place is interesting.

amarawind-

You're reaction was priceless. Hope you're still enjoying the beach.

C1-

Thanks my friend. Glad you're liking it.

higherbeingfrinedsfan-

Thank you again. Warrick and Brass might be best not to prod too much into this. We shall see though.

vonnie-

Gil knows how thing might be perceived and Warrick is shocked, but he knows that something awful must have transpired in there. Warrick knows Nick too well to believe that anything short of the devil would have caused him to hurt Grissom. Brass is a very smart cookie. Thank you again.

Wolfwood-

The focus of the story will remain on Nick and Gil since it is a character study, but Bras and Warrick will have their moments. Thank you for your support.

brigitta-

It must have been very interesting indeed to read the story backwards, but then you could see Nick slowly go back to normal! Thank you for taking the time to respond, I'm glad everything I conveyed really made you able to visualize everything. The after effects are very tough to deal with, you'll have to wait to see!

Groban-

Nick is my tough CSI, he can pull through anything..it'll take time, but he will always endure. I love him so. Thank you.

Gerandfan-

Thank you very much. Hoped you liked the newest one.


	9. Chapter 9

The arrival to the ER was like some wild Hollywood movie, filled with tension and urgency. The ride to the hospital had somehow kept Nick awake. The addition of freezing ice packs around different areas of his body had indeed agitated the man. The CSI fluctuated between frightened pleads to be let go to more hostile outbursts. He was too weak to be a physical threat to anyone, but that didn't mean his distress didn't affect the graveyard supervisor.

Grissom, despite exhaustion and his own pain, made his way inside the ER room. Nurses and doctors barked at him to leave, but he stubbornly remained.

The head physician, Mike Wilkins, didn't want to waste time with the stubborn criminalist. He looked over at one of his residents. "I'm in charge here, sir. You need to get looked at now. Now I don't have time to argue."

A young female started to escort the supervisor away. Gil protested.

Dr. Wilkins looked over his shoulder. "Take him to the next room." He locked yes with the older CSI. "Its only a few feet away, you can see and hear everything going on." He explained.

The head of the ER brought his attention back to his patient as he demanded to know the bullet. Frank and his partner undid the restraints long enough to transfer Nick to another gurney, and then refastened his arms, torso, and legs for the safety of everyone involved in his care.

"We've got a Caucasian, Male, 32. Injected overdose of an unknown amount of PCP and Mescaline about 7 hours ago. He's vomited twice, been in and out of conciseness, exhibited erratic behavior. Pulse's 75, BP 70/56." Frank rattled off the first set of problems.

The staff had effectively removed the rest of Nick's jeans and replaced the now empty IV bag of with a new one.

The lead paramedic continued. "Patient's body temp is 104.5, down a degree after cooling in the field. We suspect heat exhaustion or even heat stroke. Mr. Stokes was left in an unventilated warehouse for the past several hours, also exhibits symptoms of ARDS. Victim is a law enforcement officer who has been kept under duress."

The medic wanted to make it known they were dealing with a criminalist who had been victimized and not some guy messing around with drugs for kicks.

Dr. Wilkins nodded and went into action. He barked out orders as he prioritized the treatments. "All right folks. Lets get a foley catheter in," the doc looked over at one of his nurses. "Keep an eye on his output. I want a chest X-ray, Head CT, Arterial Blood gas, CBC, PT, aPTT, fibrinogen & platelet count."

The head physician looked over at one of his students. "What other tests am I missing?"

A short red-haired man responded. "Electrolyte count, BUN and creatinine, Blood glucose, CK, and Urinalysis."

Dr. Wilkins looked up. "Very good."

A flurry of nurses started lines to get some of the needed counts, while others made arrangements to get portable radiology carts inside to take the needed scans.

Dr. Wilkins took out his stethoscope and started listening to Nick's chest, noting heavy sounds of fluid build up in his air sacs.

Nick slowly became more agitated as he tried to thrash about the gurney. All the bright lights were too intense for him. He couldn't get away from the hot white flash that bored through his eyelids, burning the very inside of his skull. All the voices around him floated in and out, making him even more dizzy.

"Goddammit, lemme go!" he screamed through his oxygen mask, his voice cracking from anxiety and fear.

Nick pulled the straps on his arms fruitlessly. He had regained some feeling in his limbs, but they were still sluggish. The frantic CSI knew he had been stripped of his clothes for some unknown reason, and feeling exposed to all the flurry of strangers was beyond the terror of any kind of pain. His fractured thought process was violently interrupted when he felt a pain rip through a part of his body that he never thought could be exposed to such an assault.

"Foley's in," a nurse called out. She looked at her patient with sympathy when he screamed.

"Let's start him on 10 MG of Diazem," the head doctor leaned over the frightened man. "Mr. Stokes, we're going to give you something to calm you down, so we can work on helping you."

One of the residents injected the sedative, and the hysterical man slowly ceased his wild movements. His eyelids fluttered and they finally closed as the full effect of the drug relaxed him.

"What's his O2 levels?"

"Sats are at 85," one if the older nurses replied.

One of the younger med students looked over at Wilkins. "What do we treat first, sir?"

"We'll start with an endotracheal tube. We need to treat his respiratory distress."

"What about gastric lavage?"

"No use," Wilkins replied. "Lavage only works if the drug was ingested." He eyed the student, who dropped his gaze in embarrassment. First year students should've known that.

Grissom, who had been taking in all the medical drama, let his voice be heard. "I'll need copies of all of his tests for evidence." The criminalist inside him was still alive and well.

The female resident who was inserting the man with his own IV explained to him. "No problem, sir." She continued to try to examen the man, who strained to watch all the goings on just a few away.

"Back to the patient people," Wilkins gruffly stated. "Get me a cooling blanket and some fans; we've got to get his temp down before he fries out his system. I want 5 MG of Mannitol; let's try to keep his kidneys from shutting down too, shall we?"

Nurses returned with a cooling blanket while the med students hooked up the fans in an attempt to cool off the overheated CSI. In the meantime, the female resident inserted the Trach tube down Nick's throat.

A breathing ventilator was rolled in, and an unconscious Nick was hooked up to give his overtaxed lungs a break from working on their own.

Nick was the center of the ER for the longest ten minutes of Grissom's life. Warrick and Brass had made it to the hospital and worriedly stood outside, as they were told not to enter the overly crowded treatment room.

The head doctor got some of his x-rays done, and was awaiting his rushed lab results. His top priority was to get the heat stroke under control. The physician concentrated on lowering Nick's body temperature, as well as getting him the much needed fluids and electrolytes.

One of the nurses came rushing in with more lab results. The doctor snatched them up and scanned the contents.

"All right, we're definitely dealing with PCP and Mescaline. Let's get 25 MG of Thorazine on board and 10 MG of Zipragidone." The doctor looked over at his students. "All right children, what are the reasons for this treatment?"

A young Asian man shot back his answer. "Anti psychotic and anti hallucinogenic drugs to treat the OD," he replied.

Dr. Wilkins grinned. "Nice to know some people pay attention to toxicology." The head physician gently grabbed Nick's wrist and studied his injured right hand.

"Once we get the rest of the tests done, let's get some X-rays of this mangled hand."

The head of the ER growled to himself. This man had been put through the ringer, big time. He stepped up his resolve and set to work and hoped that the CSI would not be a shell of his former self when all was said and done.

* * *

Warrick stood motionless outside the ICU unit. He gazed thoughtfully at the closed doors, and sighed as he looked at his watch for what must have been the 20th time. Eight hours. Too much time since they had arrived at the hospital. He really hated these damn places. Soft foot steps echoed down the linoleum floor and Warrick looked up to see the Captain approach.

Brass carried two cups of coffee, and handed one of them to his colleague. The taller man accepted the offered item and sipped on it, his eyes still glued to the ICU doors.

The detective blew on his hot beverage and exhaled a heavy breath. "I just talked to Gil."

Warrick looked at him with interest. "How's he doing? Last I checked he was fighting the nurses over his enforced rest."

Jim shrugged. "He slept for a few hours; right now he's signing paperwork to be released."

Warrick's mouth twitched. "He's pretty banged up."

Jim worked his jaw. "Nicky worked him over pretty good, but he'll be okay. He was dehydrated, but after a few bags of fluids he's doing better. He looks worse then he seems, but he does have a broken collarbone." Brass sighed. "Hell of a thing."

The criminalist growled low in his throat. Catherine and Sara were over at the little compound going over the scene. Jim had just gotten back from his first round of interrogations, with only a handful of news.

Jim nodded towards the subject of all of their thoughts. "How's Nicky doin'?"

Warrick rubbed the back of his neck. "He's hooked up to a breathing machine and still unconscious. His doctor is in there now."

Brass snorted humorously. "Kid's got a shitload of drugs in him."

Warrick shook his head. "They have him doped on all sorts of stuff, trying to combat that PCP cocktail." Once again the anger he'd kept such tight control over swelled inside. "Did that creep cop to it yet?"

Jim tilted his head. "Nope. He's still mumbling about faith and religion. But one of his little cronies spilled the beans. Mr. Santo admitted that the whole idea was to get Nick so high on that poison that he'd just kill Gil, and then they knew the heat would take care of Nick. All they'd have to do is clean it all up in a couple'a days."

The CSI eyes filled with contempt. "Well, it won't get them off the hook for attempted murder and assault."

"In their view, if Gil and Nick 'failed' their so-called tests, then their conscience would be clear. Sounds like Jorge Carlos has done this thing before. We might have him on several more murder charges soon enough."

Both men turned at the sound of Gil Grissom's purpose-laden steps. When he got closer, both his friends kept their comments on his appearance to themselves. The whole left side of his face was dark blue, morphing into an uglier black. He had his arm in a sling, and still walked a bit stiffly. He looked pretty battered, but he at least seemed a bit more rested.

The supervisor stopped in front of the duo, his eyes wandering over to the closed doors. "Have you been in there with him?"

Warrick nodded. "Yeah, I was kicked out just a few minutes ago. But I'll get back in my chair as soon as the doctor's done."

"What have they said?" Grissom asked.

Warrick's expression was grim. "He'll be on that vent till tomorrow and they want to kept him snowed under till then. When he wakes up, he's got to stay in there. The room's to remain dark, and he'll need constant monitoring for the aftereffects from the drugs."

Grissom let this information sink in. The supervisor had been so exhausted after the whole situation he never had a chance to talk to his coworkers. "How did you guys know where to find us?"

Warrick grunted. "You didn't give us much to go on... but we found your notes. Sara and Catherine went to the pharmacy, where they found Nick's truck."

Gil encouraged the man to continue with his expression.

"They suspected foul play, and began processing the scene. With you missing as well, the three of us guessed both of you were taken. I suspected that Nick went to look for you, and being the bullheaded guy that he is, didn't tell anyone."

Jim snorted. "I thought it would be best to stake out the pharmacy. Catherine and Sara stayed there thinking it was the best place. Then 'Rick showed me this little known place out in the desert from your case files. I sent a few of my guys over, who reported back a ton of strange activity. We got a team together, I took Warrick with me, and after seeing those yahoos transfer their little crates of goodies, we decided to proceed."

Grissom's 's face clouded over. "How long were you guys there?"

Brass looked a bit hesitant. "We staked it out for over an hour. We had to get documented evidence. One of the crates slipped out of their hands. With bricks of drugs spilling all over the place, we got all the proof we needed."

Grissom stood silently.

Not liking the direction this conversation was heading, Jim licked his lips. "When do they think Nick'll be released?"

Before Warrick could respond, the doors opened and Dr. Wilkins walked out. The physician waved them away from the ICU room and further down the hallway.

The trio followed him and silently waited as the doctor adjusted his glasses. "Mr. Stokes seems to be doing well on the ventilator. I'll wean him off in the morning."

"How is he doing otherwise?" Warrick interrupted.

The gruff physician sighed. "It's only been a few hours. We've brought his body temperature down with evaporate cooling using tepid water and fans. He's almost back to normal, around 99.9°F. He's been completely rehydrated, and as far as we can tell he did not suffer any permanent kidney, liver, or heart damage."

Grissom nodded, relieved about that aspect of treatment. "What about the overdose?"

Dr. Wilkins shrugged. "After he's off of the ventilator and there are no signs of complications, we'll see if psychiatric care is indicated. He may require transfer to a short-term psychiatric unit if his psychosis is not under adequate control."

Grissom's mouth twitched. "You think that's a possibility?" he asked in hushed voice.

Dr. Wilkins shook his head. "I don't know, Mr. Grissom. I can't predict anything... I'll seek consultation after he wakes up."

Gil looked at the physician. "I want to see him."

The doctor's expression turned apprehensive. "You can go for a very short time now, but when he wakes up, I don't want you in there."

Jim and Warrick gave the man a cold stare, while Gil looked at him sharply.

The doctor held his hand in the air. "Look, I know the both of you went though a very horrible thing, but I don't know what state of mind Mr. Stokes will be in."

"Exactly why I'm going to be there," the supervisor reasoned, his voice firm.

"Have you seen yourself in the mirror, Mr. Grissom?"

Warrick and the Captain both looked visibly uncomfortable, while the entomologist looked down at himself, a bit puzzled. "So?"

"Who knows what he remembers from his ordeal. Whatever recollections will most likely be disjointed, and very traumatic. I know that people under the influence of PCP are not responsible for their actions, but what will he think when he sees the shape you're in?"

Gil shifted uncomfortably. "It wasn't his fault, he was very sick." Even to his own ears, the CSI knew that the physician had a point.

"Even if he's over his psychotic behavior, we still have to worry about depression and destructive thoughts. I think it would be best if you stayed away." The doctor shrugged. "A qualified psychiatric physician will determine his mental and emotional stability before clearing you to visit."

The doctor's pager went off. "I have to go. I'll be sure to keep you apprised." Dr. Wilkins gave the group a sympathetic look before he departed down the hallway.

TBC...

* * *

Author's notes:

Thank you for allthe extensive feedback on the last chapter. The newest one is focused on the more medical aspects of the story. I am by no means a person in the medical feild.at all. This whole story was based on research and wonderful feedback by my knowledgeable beta. If anything is wrong, this is indeed fiction, but much research was involved. Thank you again for such inspired support, it indeed makes a writer happy!

MS2-

He's getting better. Thank you for the continued support.

Shoebe-

My cheeks are pink. Thank you again. This chapter required a set of charts to get accurate! But I love it so. I really enjoy the realism, would not be as much fun to write.

Staresp4cat-

Jorge will get his dues. I think afterwards Nick understands that the EMTs are just trying to help. Thank you again.

Msquirrell-

I just put Nick through his paces. But thank you again!

Sarah-

thanks. Have fun on your trip!

sokerfreak-

As long as this website does not collapse every week, the updates are soon! Thanks again!

Designation-

Thanks! The line from Brass came very natural! As far as the research that was done..I hope it fairly accurate. Thanks again!

wolfwood-

Those are the best compliments. I don't know if I could write anything that did not involve some research. Why take the time to write if you don't get informed? Big smiles!

Poncholives-

Nice to see some CSIFiles people. thank you again. There are some good writers here, just look for them! Nice seeing you here.

CL-

The whole concept of this story was to see if I could write Grissom with Nick. Your response means a lot. It would be very difficult for Gil to admit he hit Nick, but it was his only defense. Thank you again!

Amarawind-

Girl don't feel awkward at all! It makes be feel happy that you are enjoying the story as much as you are! Its one of the reasons I try to write so much in advance so I can update as soon as possible! I feel he's our "Nick " as well!

shadowind-

All in one sitting Wow! Thanks! Glad its only 8 chapters! heheh.

Peekaboo-

After reading your comments I really am interested in your response to this chapter As a non medial person, I hope it rings true. Your feedback means lot!

Wonky-

Why thank you! This has been a load of fun to write and I feel I have learned a lot in doing so.

Rozzy-

Well, this story is kind of winding down. I felt there was only so much emotion I could put our beloved characters through as well as the reader where it just got to the point of crossing the line. Thank you for such helpful comments. I always look forward to what you have to say. I have a ton else to publish and hope you take the time to read..I'm not going anywhere, as I feel I have lots to explore soon!

Higherbeingfriends fan-

thank you. I just hope everything comes across as real. thanks for being there from beginning to the end. This update was very prompt!

Madmaggie-

here ya go! Enjoy for the weekend, hope you still enjoy it! thank you for there support!

Groban-

I always look forward to what you have to say. Nick still has a ways to go! Than you again!

Angie b-

Well, without giving much away...My next BIG story is another casefile. However, it will deal with a certain childhood trauma in a major way. Thank you again. Its going to take time to write, as it will be as long as Pound Of Flesh after Grave Danger fic...its my main summer project.


	10. Conclusion

Gil Grissom looked at his hands. He had brought several journals, books and magazines to keep him company. In the end, all that reading material had found its way to the floor. It had been three days since Nick's arrival to the hospital. Gil had gone home for one night to try to recover, but his thoughts had been plagued by nightmarish images from the warehouse. He had been given a week off by the lab director, however, so he soon found himself back in this room.

Nick was out of the ICU and had been transferred to the psychiatric wing. Grissom had been told that no matter what the results were on Nick's first evaluation, it was hospital procedure for him to be closely monitored in this specialized unit. Dr. Hall was now his primary care giver, and the supervisor had already met with him numerous times to receive his reports and prognosis. Nick was still be closely watched for any lingering effects of his heat stroke, and he still had to remain in a calm environment for his recovery. All in all, the young CSI was still exhausted and weak from his ordeal and still needed full medical supervision.

The psychiatrist had informed Grissom that Nick was responding well to the medications he'd been given. Nick was no longer suffering from his psychosis, but he was experiencing a fairly severe form of depression. The CSI was still receiving sedatives to keep him calm. Nick was experiencing many frightening memories, but could not actually recall many details of his experience.

Grissom lightly placed his hand on Nick's shoulder and squeezed it, without much of a response. He was allowed to visit, since it was determined that his presence might help in Nick's mental recovery. Gil wiped at his face with his hand; he was still very tired himself. The entomologist was happy that his coworker was no longer hooked up to a ventilator. It was still distressing to see several tubes snake out from under his sheets: the IV line was still in place, a pulse ox clipped to his finger, and all sorts of cardiac leads stuck to his chest.

Gil was so intent on counting all the intrusive instruments that he didn't see Nick's eyes open and focus on him.

Nick moved his heavy head to one side, but couldn't bring himself to lift it off his pillow. He felt completely drained of energy and didn't have the inclination to talk to anyone. Sure, he gave the shrink short and clipped answers to his little survey and appraisal, but Nick's mind was so fried, that he couldn't articulate his thoughts well enough to give any real solid information on how he was feeling. Not that he felt like sharing anyway. It just wasn't his "thing", and it's not like he deserved to feel better.

He had been given a condensed and very sketchy account of what had happened to him and Grissom. Nick was sure that Warrick and his physician were leaving a lot of gaps unanswered for many reasons. His partner had practically lived in his room, despite the fact that all Nick did was sleep. After a while, even the presence of his best friend started to make him irritable.

Nick was plagued by some horrific nightmares, strange and scary hallucinations, as well as weird images of himself. The young man swallowed. Some of the things he saw himself do were the most disturbing things of all. As he now observed his boss, it terrified him that maybe some of those things were real memories and not figments of a dark imagination.

Nick wasn't blind. The room had very little light, but even where he lay, the CSI could see the bruises all along the left side of Gil's face. Nick's eyes wandered over his mentor. He noticed the ugly bruises on Grissom's left forearm, as well as that stark white sling that his right arm was in. Nick felt a wave of self recrimination wash over him; it must have caused his body to react, as his broken hand twitched slightly and he hissed in pain.

Gil was brought out of his own deep thoughts when he noted that his CSI was awake. Nick grit his teeth and allowed a small groan to escape.

"Are you all right, Nick?" the supervisor asked, ready to hit the call button if needed.

The younger criminalist's eyes flew open at that question. _'Are you all right, Nicky?'_ resonated in his head.

"F-fine," he croaked.

Nick instinctively pulled away from Grissom's worried stare. The object of his discomfort diverted his attention, and Nick glared at his right hand. Four of his fingers were in braces, except for his pinkie. His entire hand was twice its normal size and it was bruised all over. Grays morphed into black and blues all over the exposed skin.

"You have four broken fingers, and several more hand fractures. The doctor says with physical therapy, that there won't be any permanent damage," Grissom explained.

Nick blinked. Permanent damage. He shook his head and stifled a choked sob.

Grissom chewed his lip, his fingers inching ever closer to the nurses' buzzer. "Are you in pain? Do you want me to call the nurse?"

"N-no," he stammered.

Nick still didn't look at him, had not once locked eyes. Grissom adjusted his weight in the chair. Now that it wasn't a crisis, his mind seemed to have become bogged down.

Nick fixed his gaze at the ceiling. He ignored how sore his throat still felt. His thoughts were so hazy. Nick's eyes traveled the IV line, wondering how many medications they had him on. He just wanted to be alone. He deserved to be isolated, kept far away from anyone.

"I-I understand if I have to face charges... or... i-if... you want me to leave the unit." Nick found himself saying the words before his thoughts were solidified.

Grissom sighed. "Nick, there's no need for disciplinary action, none what so ever. You didn't do anything wrong."

The room filled with Nick's choked laughter. Grissom squinted in confusion. The older criminalist wondered if he'd ever have a normal conversation with his CSI ever again.

"Nick, look at me," Gil instructed.

Hesitantly, the other man turned his head and looked over at his boss. It was the trepidation and utter lack of hope in his empty eyes that really grabbed Gil.

"Nicky, you're a very smart man, and you have great instincts. When you're able to cope with what happened, I hope you also realize that none of it... and I mean _nothing_ was in your control. We've seen what PCP can do people. How it can make even the most lucid and well adjusted individuals act in completely irrational ways."

Grissom leaned over the bed and gently grabbed Nick's uninjured wrist for added emphasis. "_You_ were a victim of a crime. _We_ were both held captive and forced to endure a madman's deadly game. You were _not_ in control of your actions, and under the circumstances... I'm very proud of you."

Nick was stunned. Deep inside he knew his boss was correct, but somehow he felt ashamed for letting the drugs affect him like they did. As a scientist, he knew that such foolish ideas were not very plausible, but never in a million years did he think himself capable of such actions... of such thoughts.

Where did the drug's influence end and his own inner demons begin, he wondered.

"I gave in to a homicidal rage... and you're _proud_ of me? For what? Not killing you?" he asked in disbelief.

"I don't have to tell you about violent and psychotic behavior from a PCP overdose, do I?" Gil asked in a somewhat challenging tone.

Nick coughed a little, rising to the bait. "No... I mean... I guess not."

Grissom knew this was not the time or place to have an in depth discussion about this. He wanted to begin the healing, to help Nick overcome some of his doubts before they festered. The criminalist knew they covered some important ground today. But his CSI was tired and clearly the conversation had wiped him out.

A nurse walked in, casting the room in silence again. She smiled at her patient as she checked all of his readings, made notations of his outputs and wrote them in his chart. "Dr. Hall thinks it's a good idea that you get up and walk around a bit today, Mr. Stokes."

Nick nodded absently, even though he knew he didn't have the strength to get out of bed.

"I'll be sure to have an orderly help you out. If you're feeling up to it, maybe you can handle a shower instead of your sponge bath." The older nurse patted his shoulder playfully at his wide-eyed expression. "Not that any of us mind, you know," she teased gently. "Not every day we get patients as handsome as you."

At Nick's continued shocked stare, the nurse hurried along with business. "Time for your medications." She had a couple syringes prepped, and began injecting them in Nick's IV.

The criminalist cringed at the sight of the syringes.

The nurse noticed his anxiety and quickly disposed of the needle. "It's all right hon, it's just something to help clear out the remains of that nasty stuff in your system."

Nick felt slightly embarrassed, but he knew it would take some time to get over certain anxieties. As time went by, there would be less of the poison remaining in his system. He hoped all of his new fears would disappear as well. Nick knew it wouldn't be that easy, but time healed all wounds. Or, he prayed it would.

The nurse left and Gil got up to gather his things. He sensed Nick's immediate nervousness, but he put the man at ease. "I'm just going to get some dinner. I'll be back."

"Good," was all that Nick managed to reply.

Grissom gave Nick one of his books to read and headed out. The supervisor felt better after having this conversation. He would stop by Dr. Hall's office to let the physician in on the progress made today.

* * *

Nick had spent almost a week in the hospital, in fact he was one day shy. He wondered if it was some insurance thing. Maybe the rates went up if you stayed the full seven. His jeans felt looser around his waist and his shirt was a bit larger. He'd lost weight from his stay and the dehydration, but the CSI knew he'd gain in back eventually. He had a pretty clean bill of health, considering all that he'd just gone through. Nick's doctor advised him to seek therapy for several months, at least till all his symptoms disappeared.

He was released an hour earlier then he thought, so he waited outside after one of the of the nurses wheeled him to the exit.. Nick opened the doors, and the slight breeze felt good against his face. It was a warm day; the sun was still low in the sky, so the stifling heat would grow as the day went by. Nick didn't know if he would ever get used to that kind of heat again. One thing was for sure, he'd carry at least a bottle of water on him at all times.

He had started down a small row of steps, when he saw a familiar Tahoe being parked several rows of cars ahead of him. Grissom had insisted on picking him up which Nick had found a little amusing, since he he was certain Warrick had protested that decision vehemently. Nick had decided against informing Gil about the earlier release, as the young criminalist wanted a little time alone to think, not to be overly crowded. Nick watched as his boss exited his vehicle and strode towards him.

Nick rested his injured hand against the side of his leg. He never realized how much he used it, till every movement caused him a great deal of pain. The criminalist sighed, he'd been told he had at least another week off to recuperate. Then he had to pass a mental health screening just to go back to do lab work. Who knew when he'd get back in the field?

Gil was standing next to him now, a small smile on his face. Seeing his boss in such a good mood made him a bit nervous. He matched his supervisor's easy smile awkwardly.

"Hey, Gris."

"Nick."

"You know Warrick could have done this. You didn't have to take time out of your day," he said, still slightly uncomfortable with this kind of attention from the boss.

Grissom ignored Nick's hesitancy. "Do you need any prescriptions picked up?"

"Ah, yeah. Ya know, just preventative stuff." Nick followed his boss as they started walking to his car.

"We'll pick them up on the way."

Nick arched an eyebrow. "We goin' somewhere?"

Grissom smiled and slipped his glasses back on without a word.

* * *

Gil Grissom and Nick Stokes sat in the VIP section of the Las Vegas Stars. The entertainment hub of Nevada did not have any professional sports teams. However, they did pride themselves in their AAA baseball team. The graveyard supervisor had called in some favors and pulled some strings. Now both criminalists were enjoying themselves in an air conditioned and enclosed booth above the stands with an overview of the field.

Nick chomped on a hot-dog greedily; after so many days of hospital food, this was pure heaven. He stood up and cheered as one of the Stars hit a line drive.

After an hour Nick remained seated. He still fatigued fairly easily, but that didn't stop his enthusiastic grin. Gil looked over and allowed himself a similar smile. It was good to see his colleague so joyous. Nick Stokes was still a jock at heart.

"So, what are you going to do all week?"

Nick shrugged. "Been meaning to find a new workout program. Think I'll look for a local gym."

Gil shook his head. "What, you're not buff enough?"

Nick shook his head. "Nah, just want to add some mass." He shrugged. "My doc says I might need something to channel any anxiousness I might continue to feel."

Nick looked over at his boss; some of his uneasiness about being around the elder man had dissipated. "Um, thanks for doing this. Thought I'd spend all day at home."

Gil tilted his head to one side. "You'll have plenty of time to rest. Figured you might enjoy an outing."

Nick narrowed his eyes, but his smile was still there. "Grissom. We've never hung out outside of work before."

"Maybe that's been a mistake," Gil admitted.

Nick squirmed in his seat. "Gris..."

"You don't have to be so anxious around me, Nick. I may be your boss, but we're colleagues. I've always respected you as a CSI. You don't always have to try measuring up to some impossible invisible stick."

"I know... I mean... I don't."

"There it is again, Nicky. I might not tell you what I think all the time, but if you stop trying to measure your self worth against mine, then I'll try to be a bit more human." The supervisor allowed a slight grin, knowing he could take a jab at himself.

Nick turned away, his cheeks slightly pink. "Yeah, I can try."

The two men watched the game continue, and in the end the home team won. The CSI's got out of their seats and made their way home. The silence in the car was easygoing this time, the friendship between the two criminalists more solidified. The desert heat, the tiny warehouse, the madness of a cult leader, would eventually become a memory. The aftermath of their ordeal would be with the both of them, but each CSI was learning to take the bad elements of the experience and find something positive out it. As Nick had said once, experiences like that make a person. With Gil Grissom and Nick Stokes, taught them much about themselves; their inner strengths, their character, their friendship, would endure long after the emotional and physical scars had faded.

Fini-

* * *

Author's notes: Another end to another story. Sad to see this one complete. I want to thank all my faithful readers and new ones that have followed this journey. Thank you so much for all the feedback everyone has submitted. I felt this was a proper conclusion, as I did not want to beat a dead horse or let this story become stifled. I am not a doctor, I just did a ton of research and I had a wonderful beta who kept me inline, thank you Kris!

There are a couple one shots up my sleeves, a co-authored post Grave Danger fic with Shacky soon. The on to a new casefile. See everyone soon.

amarawind-

Your words are fine. Thank you for the wonderful support! Hope you're nails are better.

Staresp4cat-

Thank you again for the support! See you next time.

Pike2-

Thank you again.

sokerfreak-

Nick did have to get the right treatment, but his stay was not too bad. Thank you for all of your feedback.

Higherbeingfriendsfan-

Thank you very much for all of your detailed comments. Hope this was a satisfying ending.

Designation-

Here you go my friend. Thank you for being so supportive!

wolf-

Thank you very much. I have never watched House. Must be from my days of writing ER fanfiction, more kind of the Peter Benton approach.

Vonnie-

Reading chapter 8 o 9 back to back I bet was a big whirlwind. Thank you for the praise, the research wasn't too bad, had to write a chart, that's all!

Richiefic-

You're welcome. This story was quite a catalyst for what I wanted to explore, while keep Gil and Nick in character. Plot device are nice that way. Thanks again.

shadowind-

Thank you, you're so sweet. Glad all the jargon wasn't in the way, I had hoped it added realism.

Groban-

Hope there was no medication needed to read this one. You're always been such a wonderful supporter all this time. Thank you.

Poncholives-

Thank you again for all the support.

M2s-

I really did not want a matchup between Jorge and Gil, felt better with time devoted between Nick and Gil. Hoped the ending resolved most of it. Thank you.

C1-

Nick did go through the ringer, poor dear. Glad you enjoyed all his trials and tribulations, but our CSI will always come out of any thing I do to him!

Peekaboo-

Thanks. I felt the bulk of the warehouse how a ton of hurt and comfort, I just didn't want the story to become stagnate. Thanks again.

mudhousejunkie-

Yes, that certain childhood incident will come into play soon. Sometime during the summer. Thank you.

Amy- What is VS? Thanks for pointing out the little things that I should change..I'll be sure to update that. Glad everything else was realistic with the needed action.

witchsword-

Thank you again. Nick will be able to cope with this with the right help. I think he was in a good place where the story ended.

A.remains-

. I'm not a doctor, thanks for thinking!


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